On Sillot Hill Poem by Mark Dillon
On Sillot Hill
On Sillot hill you'll find a wood there.
Where as a young boy I played without care.
We'd make spears, bows and arrows for fun
and madly through the trees we'd run.
We were Robin Hoods and Little Johns,
Will Scarlet and the other ones.
We'd light a camp fire and around it tell
stories of the apple and William Tell.
Then practice our archery. thinking we were the hero's.
Shooting for aces, but all getting zeros.
But we had such fun and we played through the days.
All through the summer under the warm suns rays.
And as the evenings got short and Autumn drew in.
The holidays were over and school days were in.
We'd sit and remember the fun, and we'd cheer.
Then start making plans for adventures next year.
Hi mark. Initially by the title I wondered if this was a war piece but no it was the opposite. A real swallows and amazon write of muddied faces practicing the art of friends play construction joy tears mathematics sport (well everything that play encourages and teaches. My sillcot hill was (The brickfields) where we had miles of fields pig farms, bunkers and a pond with an island worth fighting a boy for the only pallet to row to the middle in, all by a railway track with broken wire fences yay! Us girls 4 of us were a handful lol. Thanks for my memory lane meander
Loved this one Mark brough back a lot of great childhood memories.
What a beautiful way to capture the nostalgia of childhood. I love the description here, and the words flow very gracefully. A joy to read!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 1:40:16 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Simple childhood memories are often the best and a great source of sanctuary and inspiration. A great write.