I turn from the plague of paperwork
To look through the open window
Sophie the sheepdog at rest
Dreaming in the Hibiscus shadow
The girls plaiting daisy chains
~
The play garden
A makeshift swing hangs from the pear tree
Grass, long, unworried by cutting blades
Allowing wild flowers and weeds to flourish
Given their freedom to exist
~
Mandy, a skipping, restless butterfly
Seeking nectar from every experience
A six year old torpedo
Who can look through your eyes
Into your very soul
~
Eager for an audience
She lifts Sophie’s shaggy head
Wags a finger for her attention
And performs an Arabesque, rather poorly
The old dog wags her tail in sleepy applause
~
Melanie, accepts the burden of maturity
With the mantle of responsibility
Resting on her eight year old shoulders
Sighs a patient sigh
And gathers the playtime litter
~
She hangs the daisy chains
Low on the laurel bush
Garlands for the night fairies
They will be gone by morning
You see, they always are
~
Hand in hand they run to the willow
Hanging branches touching the leafy earth
A tunnel leads to a secret place
In the sun dappled darkness
They giggle their secrets
~
Sunday bells pealing, heavy, in the evening haze
The wall clock ticks its way to tea time
Later, the bubble splashing bath
Climbing the stairs to the comfort of cooling sheets
Magic in the bedtime story to colour their dreams
~
Sleep my little ones
But hold tight to each waking hour
Treasure these precious years
Before the thief of time
Steals your innocence.
*
*


Note.
One of the first poems I wrote and posted on a poetry forum, boy was I nervous. But most of the replies were kind with the exception of one who told me this stuff was dead as the Dodo and I should move onto the modernist style of poetry writing. At the time I didn’t have a clue what he was on about. I do now.