I can still recall those day´s
of long hot summers
when mothers would call us in
on dry and dusty red sky evenings
after our long day at play.

We would tell our tales of
battles won and of the
den we built hidden deep
in nearby woods whilst
gobbling up our well earned tea.

I´d  head the stairs to take the bath
mum had run for me and I´d sit
and scrub and with flannel rub
at mud caked bleeding knees.

Wooden swords stood against
back doors ready for the morrow.

I can still recall those days when
we of saucepan helmets and of
dustbin lid shields ruled the world,
albeit with a melancholy feeling
for lost days never to return*.