The good ole days…

I remember a time when I was young

When us kids went outside for fun.

Our mums drank tea, had a natter

Their laughs echoing over the kids chatter.

The men earned honest money, with hard graft

They were the days, but they didn’t last.

 

Daffodils breaking through the warming earth,

As the promise of spring filled the street with mirth.

We wore hand me down clothes and real leather shoes,

Played in the growing corn, had lunch on the kerb.

We played kerby and footy bulldog and chase

Everything we did was always a race

 

Summer days in the summer haze

The field of corn lined with trees, no hint of a breeze

Daisy chain ropes that reached to the skies,

Dandelion clocks, oh how time flies.

Purple fingers, tell tale lips,

Blackberry pies with apple bits

 

Bonfire night, the woolies are out,

In before dark the mothers did shout.

Sparklers, fireworks, penny for the guy,

Halloween sweeties an endless supply.

We play on the cornfield, so empty and bare,

Its hard to remember what they grew there.

 

Snowmen so big we stood in awe, then

took turns aiming for the highest score.

One in each garden, some on the path,

A pile of wet socks, gloves, hats and scarves.

In the cornfield trenches were dug, ammo created

The older ones always dominated.

I remember the cornfield swaying in the breeze

Before they laid brick, took away the trees

Everyone got busy, the air grew stale

And nobody noticed when the kids grew pale.

 

Karen Hayward ©2017 (Image and words)