Looking back, through the window of time,
Playground skipping ropes turning in rhyme.
Counted verse and a strange childish chant,
Disguised lilt of an ancient, grown up rant.

Posies left by the river, ashes of the dead.
An axe-man waiting to chop off your head.

Wheeled ice-cream carts selling real ice-cream,
Penny sugar barley twists, sweeter than a dream,
Never-ending Saturdays playing in the sun,
Kick the can, if you can, and run rabbit run.

Posies left by the river, ashes of the dead.

Hazy days, crazy days, reliving the lost ways,
Childhood adventures, forgotten one-act plays.
I brush away the cobwebs, wipe away the grime,
Reliving blue skies through my window of time.

An axe-man waiting to chop off your head.

© Paul Chafer 2014