What memories a child retains!
And I, perhaps but two or three,
Am put to bed before sundown.
Curtains drawn to dim the room
Made hearing that much more accute
And I could hear our neighbour
Pushing lawnmower up and down
The stripes of his garden...
Line after LIne, until the dark
Descended on my being
And my senses flew with Wendy
Into never never land.

I can hear it now

Inside my head...

But no image of

Mr Smith exists.

He was, after all,

Behind a curtain.

© Griffonner 2022