Adventures on the wasteland

D’you know what, there are certain memories that a kid retains about the freedom and excitement out playing in all weathers with all your mates from Cecil Road. So, I thought I would compose a poem of those memories remembering the heady days of childhood. Just behind the houses of Cecil Road, there was a large expanse of wasteland us kids called, “The Pit”. This for me was a dreamland, a place to live out any fantasy I wished, a place to explore, breathe the fresh air, collect slow worms, and to listen to the background cacophony of constant birdsong.

I hope that you enjoy the poem.

Adventures on the wasteland

Raised on a piece of open wasteland
where brambles and broken bottles were strewn
my heart yearns for a return to that wasteland
where my young life was hewn

How often I have pondered
that happiness is rearranged
a wilderness of rugged beauty
that passing time has changed

I held on tightly riding bareback
a thousand fantasies to fill
memories that thankfully keep me young
of playing over “The Pit” at Horns Mill

Relentless, life’s clock keeps ticking on
and over my shoulder, I see what was then
I still feel that excitement that drove me
I see it time and time again

This page was added on 11/04/2019.

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