CHILDHOOD PLEASURES

The land was clean when I was young.

Bright skies and crystal air filled all my days.

I saw blue seas flash with silver fish

and happiness came in a hundred ways.

Winding roads led to the tang of muddy creeks,

new paint, old rope, canvas cracking in the wind.

I ran barefoot on empty shining sands,

wondering if the heart finds what it seeks.

Camping secretly beside the edge of woods,

early morning birdsong on high empty hills,

Wood smoke rising from hidden cottages.

Fast downhill cycling, air rushes, speed and thrills.

Innocent those days when happiness was all,

but it has taken these long years to understand

the sweetest apples of my childhood were small,

turning so easily in my little hand.

Max Frost

1 Oct 01