ramblings and things
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We would swing from the old oak On lengths of old wagon rope Slung from a high branch, The seat made from old sacks That rubbed and wore against Young bare legs as we clung With excited screams as we seemed To rise higher and higher Pushed faster and harder towards That always blue blue sky glimpsed Between the swaying sighing leaves Until tired of this fun We browsed the old orchard Eating the windfall fruit Competing with the yellow wasps And bees and flies For the sweet plums damsons Apples pears and then maybe To the kitchen garden to sample Strawberries gooseberries currants Both red and black sweet raspberries Then maybe a little afternoon nap Before returning to the old oak For one last swing before home Holding mams hand along the lane Leaving Billy Bulson's farm behind For the old cottage beneath the trees Overhanging from the old churchyard To eat and play and sleep safely Until the next say when mam Returned there to work And I returned to play Passing happy long green summers Until I eased into the shock of life Vote for this poem
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