The Lost Sixties Poem by Paul Warren

The smell of freshly cut lawns
A bright blue sky on Summer morns
Our neighbour playing his saxophone
As the sun fades my mother calling me home

Riding my bike as fast an I can
My father whistling as cuts timber on the saw band
Endless backyard cricket games
Only stopped by sundown flames

After a day running outside around
Falling to sleep in front of the TV bound
Waking to sunlight through my window brightly
Feeling safe and loved in my family.

© Paul Warren Poetry