Springtime was when the boring
green bush by the once-upon-a-time
air-raid shelter sprung alive. When
Lizzie Burridge and me became
‘Queens of the May’, in a place
we called ‘The Witchy Wood'...
otherwise known as my backyard.
Our crowns were woven twigs of lilac –
as many as we could nick before Nan
or Mum or Dad caught us...our thrones -
decrepit deckchairs – seen better days.
Flower Fairies saw to our every need,
as they flew in and out the leaves
and we got high on lilac wine,
mixed with sunshine...
We spoke of many things, my friend
and I...of ‘cabbages and kings...’
of caterpillars curled in tight,
brown balls....of beetles – crawled
on stones, which we’d collect
and polish, to leave along that road –
led to the future, and though our hands
were small, they held the world.