A Sixties Childhood

By TheShyAssassin

Fri, 19 Oct 2018
  • 374 reads
 

On a windswept Yorkshire hill

The snowdrops fight daffodils,
For space on a tiny terrace

Caterpillars starve and butterflies wane

In jam jars of oblivion.

School water, iron hot, smells of security,

Of a state that cares.
And the newts, so many newts.

The one's I caught at Braithwaite's Mill.

I had to climb the wall after hours.

Then I could catch the newts. 
 

 

 

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