A big wooden train Dad made and painted red Or a tricycle I sometimes preferred instead Sometimes a Jeep or a truck or a plane Those Dinky cars I played with again and again.
Cowboys and Indians that we played near the shed At the end of the garden till it was past time for bed Where I’d read Secret Seven books or Famous Five stuff Till Mum put the light out and I’d feign a big huff.
It was a leisurely time full of fun with no fear We enjoyed our school days and held them so dear But it all fell to pieces on one Saturday past noon When my beloved father died at years far too soon.
My childhood till then had been fun like a game But from that moment on it was never the same Though the standing by his grave in the cold pouring rain Isn't the memory I recall, it’s Dad’s home-made red train.