Treasure Island

George Howard

(14.02.53 / Pontefract (Broken Bridge) , UK)

Days of Lemonade and Motherdie [Queen Anne Lace]


Days of lemonade and Motherdie [Queen Ann Lace]

By GeorgeHoward 06.2010



I sit here aware, aware of time slipping by.
Look back at the days and smile, and yes, almost cry.
Those days of honeyed moments, of sheer delight.
Days of carefree existence, exciting and bright.
When copses were castles and challenges many.
Battles fought daily, enemies ten a penny.
We would run the Grand Prix, again and again.
Play the World Cup, cops ‘n’ robbers, and then,
As dark nights descended, back to our Fort.
Watching out for the dragon, in case we got caught.
I played tennis at Wimbledon, was Borg for a day,
My mate Jimmy Connors exclaiming “Out of play! ”
A troop of soldiers fierce, through jungles we fought.
Fighting all day, of meals ne’er a thought.
Scavenging the Orchards, stealing Apples or pears,
Caught by farmer Condor, demanding work for his wares.
Cleaning out his Chicken coop, having a good laugh.
Sweating in the stink, given lemonade by his staff.
Cool and refreshing, not from a bottle, made.
Then playing Charioted Romans on a huge flat spade.
Our days just flew by, Summer soon gone.
And each of those days, it seemed the sun shone.
Where are those days now? As I watch kids at play.
Do they go home weary at the end of day?
I fear most dream of other things, as they lay in their bed.
Of playing on an X-Box, or hanging on street corners instead.
Is it failure in society, or just a sign of times?
Asking the question, the answers clear, as I read the list of crimes.
We need a family structure and a sense of caring, it’s clear.
Because if this doesn’t happen, I fear the end is near!

Submitted: Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Edited: Friday, May 13, 2011

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