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Grum…Poetry

Grum

I’m off to the grum,

I’d shout through the door.

The horseshoe embankment,

with red ash park floor.

Witches hat towering,

over basic park ride.

Tunnel embankment,

for children to hide.

Swings made of old tyres

on thick heavy chains.

Twisted to spin round,

n’ scramble one’s brain.

Fort made of thick log,

to clamber about.

Or maybe to fumble,

hit floor with a clout.

But then there’s our favourite.

The forty foot slide.

With a bump in the middle,

gain air on the glide.

Waxed to perfection,

with candles we’d bring.

Riotous laughter,

in horseshoe would ring.

Butterflies and grasshoppers,

on banks we would catch.

With Grazes and grass stains,

our colours would match.

But grass banks we’d scramble,

or steep concrete stairs.

Slide time go slo-mo,

no worries – no cares.

 

A§M

24/05/2019

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