Salad Days

Rusty gates, leading to mossy paths;

Bluebells teeming through a wood.

His weekly reading from a book,

The way an English teacher should.

Wearing a starched and itchy ruff,

While in a chorister’s pew.

The ice across the local pond.

An endless cinema queue.

After-school swimming at the local baths.

The biting cold, while waiting for a bus.

Being the West Wind in a school play.

The drama coach, who loved to cause a fuss.

Our garden full of autumn leaves.

The smell of bathroom soap.

An endless park with squeaky swings.

A pond with hanging rope.

Books from the library.

The hoot of distant owls.

Car rides to the city.

A line of drying towels.

42 Salad Days

Grinning for a photo shoot.

A hammock in the trees.

A cat upon the windowsill.

A jangling of front door keys.

Blank poetry notes, with lines unwritten.

A page waiting, with just a squiggle.

My mother’s food, my father’s smile,

My younger brother’s giggle.

A bric-a-brac of memories.

Now fading, hard to see.

But be they bright or be they dim,

They all belong to me.

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