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john-lockPoems
A treasury of childhood memories Forgotten in a pinewood box Discovered on a rainy Sunday Turn the key and time unlocks ~ My books, my old friends, lay before me Restored once more to a loving hand For cross-legged hours I turn the pages Lost in a paper wonderland ~ The pirate ship her black flag flying Stormy skies and salty rain Trade winds fill the straining mainsails A small boy sails the Spanish Main ~ Take me back to Smoky London Baker Street buildings grimed with soot Top hat Holmes, his coat tails flying “Come Watson, hurry, the games afoot” ~ Plumed knights astride snow white horses ****** maidens with downcast eyes Pooh sticks float on sleepy rivers Under England’s smiling skies ~ Once again I tunnel the covers Clandestine reading on a winter’s night Sylvia Daisy Pouncer whispers ‘The wolves are running’ in the pale torchlight.
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Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
Childhood Revisited.
A treasury of childhood memories Forgotten in a pinewood box Discovered on a rainy Sunday Turn the key and time unlocks ~ My books, my old friends, lay before me Restored once more to a loving hand For cross-legged hours I turn the pages Lost in a paper wonderland ~ The pirate ship her black flag flying Stormy skies and salty rain Trade winds fill the straining mainsails A small boy sails the Spanish Main ~ Take me back to Smoky London Baker Street buildings grimed with soot Top hat Holmes, his coat tails flying “Come Watson, hurry, the games afoot” ~ Plumed knights astride snow white horses ****** maidens with downcast eyes Pooh sticks float on sleepy rivers Under England’s smiling skies ~ Once again I tunnel the covers Clandestine reading on a winter’s night Sylvia Daisy Pouncer whispers ‘The wolves are running’ in the pale torchlight.
john-lock
Written by
john-lock
41/M/England
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
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