The Secret Door Poem by Dónall Dempsey

He emerges
(somewhat startled)

from the jungle
of his days

unaware that the War
has ended

a quarter of a century
ago or more

still as green
& platsic

as he had been
way back then when

my child's hand
had placed him there

& my now adult hand
picks him up...runs him under the tap

time disolving
like cobwebs

as still he guards
the secret door

of my childhood

fights off
the tears

that explode
all around him

not recognising now
the child

who had lost him.