My Childhood Home Poem by F. Kenrick

The little place where I was born
Was beautiful to me
Though only fourteen houses
A farm, a field, a tree
To me it was enchanted
So much for me to see
No where quite so beautiful
Could there ever be
The children I grew up with,
Adventures that we shared.
If a meal we had to miss
We never really cared.
Our days were spent exploring
The fields and woods around,
No sweeter smelling meadows
Ever could be found
Our carol singing christmas time.
With candles stuck in jars.
The light upon the country side,
Came only from the stars.
The haunting call of creatures
Only heard at night,
As a calling curlew
Pass's by in flight.
I now see many changes
To this littlw place.
As hedges disappear,
Will never be replaced.
Fields ripped and torn asunder
Where once we used to roam.
They've spoiled the natural beauty
That was my childhood home.