~
we take rest on the hill
to give our memories
a chance to catch us up,
opposite the old school
we lean on the cemetery
wall where the obvious
jokes are cracked, each
tinged with a knowing
ironic speck of truth, our
recollections are strewn
around out feet like spilt
ha’pennies and coppers
from our pocket money,
for those few seconds
we are village boys again
bound by the primal
elasticity of our past
young players tumbling
around our very own
field of dreams,
on each visit this place
gladly takes us back,
combs our hair and gives
us a motherly spit wash,
lost boys who somehow
found our way back home
*
© Graham R Sherwood 07/25
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 