Remember how the four of us
would sit like contented birds
amongst the canopy of our thinly disguised
tree houses,
keeping silent whenever an occasional walker
passed below,
pretending we were invisible
the way that little children hide their eyes
convinced they can’t be seen.
We were different
amongst those supportive boughs,
contorted sylvian fingers, cupped around us
as we rested on the gently tensile branches.
In those days we flew!
© Graham Sherwood 03/2019
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 