My boy and I, alive in the sun
Ready to rumble; ready to run
Swords at the ready, stick in each hand
Bring on the battle; strike up the band
Buses are conquered, long walks are done
Park stretches green until the horizon.
Sandwiches eaten, raisins are shared,
Laughing and shouting; emotions are bared.
I watch and I smile as he plays on the grass
And I’m transformed again to that odd little lass
Who came here so often and played much the same
With a ball, or a stick, or some other great game.
It’s unclear why folks say ‘he looks just like you’
But lapping this day up; the gold and the blue
The heat haze and minnows
The gleam in the eye
When spying a duckling
Or jewelled dragon fly
Or listening hard for the buzz of a bee?
Then yeah, he really is, just like me.
Category: childhood, observation, parenting, poetry, society, writingTags: childhood, day out, family, Leeds, little boy, memories, parenting, playing out, poem, poetry, summer, sunshine, temple newsam, writing