My childhood years in this poem are from the age of 8 to say 12, cc 1950/1954 so just after the war years. Roger lived along from me, his family emigrated to Canada a few years later.
My young childhood days in so many ways,
Were days to enjoy and to treasure,
From the moment I'd tumble and stumble and fumble,
From my bed they'd be filled with such pleasure,
With my friend by my side we'd walk or we'd ride,
Be it hot or be it cold,
In all kinds of weather just happy together,
To places some new and some old,
For miles we would travel then stop to unravel,
A hankie containing our food,
Whatever the fare we would swap and would share,
And it always just tasted so good,
We would eat, play and grapple and share the last apple,
Then we would start off again,
Crossing fields, woods and rivers, it now gives me the shivers,
I now wonder were we quite sane?
All the ponds lakes and streams are the essence of dreams,
For young boys whatever their age,
But the newt's frogs and toads and spawn by the loads,
Had our mothers in a frantic rage,
We would soon talk them round and a place would be found,
To keep all our brand newfound pets,
Then the very next morning when 'twas barely quite dawning, We'd be off again, with our jam jars and nets.
With my very best friend, from beginning to end,
The days were just times to enjoy,
Though the years they have flown and old I have grown,
Oft I wish I were; still just a boy.
Poetry by Albert
Read 909 times
Written on 2005-12-09 at 01:22
Tags Reflections Youth Happiness
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My Childhood days, dedicated to Roger
My young childhood days in so many ways,
Were days to enjoy and to treasure,
From the moment I'd tumble and stumble and fumble,
From my bed they'd be filled with such pleasure,
With my friend by my side we'd walk or we'd ride,
Be it hot or be it cold,
In all kinds of weather just happy together,
To places some new and some old,
For miles we would travel then stop to unravel,
A hankie containing our food,
Whatever the fare we would swap and would share,
And it always just tasted so good,
We would eat, play and grapple and share the last apple,
Then we would start off again,
Crossing fields, woods and rivers, it now gives me the shivers,
I now wonder were we quite sane?
All the ponds lakes and streams are the essence of dreams,
For young boys whatever their age,
But the newt's frogs and toads and spawn by the loads,
Had our mothers in a frantic rage,
We would soon talk them round and a place would be found,
To keep all our brand newfound pets,
Then the very next morning when 'twas barely quite dawning, We'd be off again, with our jam jars and nets.
With my very best friend, from beginning to end,
The days were just times to enjoy,
Though the years they have flown and old I have grown,
Oft I wish I were; still just a boy.
Poetry by Albert
Read 909 times
Written on 2005-12-09 at 01:22
Tags Reflections Youth Happiness
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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