Reflecting Poem by H E Alexander

The shimmering sun reflecting
from the steadily spinning spokes.
Un-laboured limbs sprawled on the cracked
earthen carpet, dappled with tufts of green.
An occasional water-worn stone
skimmed into the gently flowing stream
amid the youthful laughter
of long summer days
before innocent loins awoke.

Between denim thighs, the wastage pipe,
worn by weather and a thousand crotches
shimmying across from bank to bank
without purpose or particular care.
Walking the pipe with precarious,
pigeon-toed steps for those that dare
or skipping the stepping-stones
with scarcely any
plimsoll-soaking missteps.

Shadows of the haunted house have long
since hidden inside my mind's deep hollows,
with that carefree boyhood age of bicycles,
crab apples and red berries.
Gone forever, save a few bladeless days,
to indulge in nubilous memories
and grieve the un-cherished
childhood moments
lost in uncharted tomorrows.