When I was but a child I played on the hobby horses
Usually on mild sunny days.
Days of innocence that have now run their course.
Local Bobbies chased you for playing ball
Never for running and shouting yourself hoarse.
Shouts of glee as we spun above the ground on our carousel of gold
Of course we all felt so very, very bold.
Playing on the hobby horses not knowing or showing fear.
After all we were kids.
When our mothers called we let on we didn’t hear.
The clip clopping of the old horse was greeted with the swelling laughter
of children running and playing.
Only memories remain of hobby horses going round.
Along with the local Bobbies chasing children.
No one to lobby for the hobby horses as they died away.
They left a deep cleft in the streets of Belfast town.
Who would ever have thought the hobby horse would die?
