Sunshine, when a young six year old,
Meant wonderful Sunday trips
To London's verdant Hilly Fields.
Remembering back Seventy Four years
Those green acres seemed enormous
And there was room for me to run
Holding tight to a flimsy string
That stretched out to the flighty
Coloured fabric kite with trailing tail,
That if the wind was right rose high
And fluttered in the blue, blue sky.
I can still see my dad smiling
Watching my delight at having
Successfully flown that kite.
My acheivement was his too
For he had patiently taught me
All that he knew about a piece
Of fabric stretched over bamboo
Sticks tied to a ball of string,

A breeze, and a length of ribbon.
For in the end such simple things
Were based on the technicalities
And science that he loved -
But far less than the love he had
For me.

© Griffonner 2026