The pathos of the past.

I think of when my children were younger, then we lived in the City of London, that urgent metropolis. |There they would play as an endless stream of metal whizzed by,  but this stream of traffic would not disturb their ceremonies of innocence. I recall it now, like all moments of experience it was transient, the moment now recalled  as if on the eternal crest of a wave, now dashed.

They would get cheap fishing nets cut off the rod and then wear the nets over their faces for some magical gaime, I can image it now as a kind of heroic frieze.

Then they would issue bulletins of desire, 'Go and get us some bread and jam, Dad.' It all had an exotic dignity, a theatrical tableau, now it is dethroned and quiescent.
It evokes in me an unappeasable pathos, an unhinkable sorrow,
that will endure beyond my tears.

I can sense derision but I see that as a form of tribute.