A Year Ago

If my bed were a time machine,
I'd use it every night
To travel back a year ago
Before the morning light.

I'd relive things that had happened
Three-six-five days before,
For though I may remember things,
I forget most, I'm sure!

Like people's faces and their names,
And what I had for tea,
And my favourite songs back then
And what was on TV.

But there'll also be my ancient fears
Of terrors now long gone,
And secondly I'll probably lose
The things that I once won.

See, my past self would likely be
Better than the me here,
But then again I'll think the same
Of myself in a year.