The Monkey Tree Poem by John Carter Brown

The Monkey Tree

I know it is a childish name to give;
but it means the world to me
to sit and write about the times
we had, around The Monkey Tree.

As nicknames go, well, 'boys will be boys'
it seemed to fit when it was was spoke,
we clambered over branches thick
we lads, like monkeys, over the oak.

Long summers up in Winstanley,
where all was fields, and Hawthorn hedge;
the Skylarks in high singing flight,
the Lapwing's chicks, as yet to fledge.

Long evenings round a camp-fire bright,
the tinder plentiful as weeds;
our happy chatter long and loud
and copious as Poppy seeds.

Baking our illegal spuds,
me dreaming in the dancing flames;
done with bird-nesting at evening time
too dim then for any more games.

Yes, days like these were commonplace
in winter frost, or summer heat;
as to the mighty Monkey Tree
we turned our eager little feet.


By John Brown April 2020