I used to climb Trees

Out in broad daylight,
where we used to ride bikes,
My home time was defined by streetlights,
fistfights and first times.  

I used to play kick stone.
outside on the roads of my home. 
Scared of the dark when I was home alone. 
A sombre tone in those days. 

My cul-de-sac was a continent,
you couldn’t count the times 
we jumped hedges and jumped the brooks,
wider berths as we grew and beamed with confidence.

He grew up on the other side of the brook to me!

Exploration into dilapidated buildings,
to seek out lost felines for the £10 reward. 
One guy got stung by a bee nine times, 
he lived to tell the tale of course.

Thinking back sometimes, 
It was us who had nine lives,
playing on the tramlines and and swimming in high tides.
colliding with live wires and life lessons,

We built sandcastles and burnt them down,
in spaces of seconds.
Lost in imagination.
I stayed in the sea until my fingers wrinkled, 
but this happened more often in the bath if i’m honest.

It seemed so simple, 
within the borders of our town, in those days.
The good old days,
or so they say - 
but i don’t disagree with the sentiment of it all, if i’m honest. 

It’s a ghost town now,
Treehouse's and broken fences,
Sweet shops and trips to the dentist.
A playground apprentice,
like Dennis the menace,

Ernie and Bertie,
maybe.

The bell rang more times than I care to remember.

It symbolised the beginning of the next class rather than the end.
To some at least, i’m not quite sure precisely who.
But it always started in September. 

Those were the days, 
Kiss chase and roller skates 
missed chances and romances.
First dances and your first falls.

The sycamore tree got smaller,
but remains the exact same size.
The boys got a little bit taller,
some of us guys even became wise.

Life is full of surprises. 

We flew apart. 
The sun went down and we grew up.

And now I don't climb Trees anymore.