Sunday, 29 April 2012

Lost Boyhood

The Turf stack stood beyond the midden by the byre
The last track that led to the Rock Heads

To the straw-bed sheep shed snug in the worst of Winter
To the muddied gate cracked-dry surface in Summer

To the last outpost of boyhood

Sister by the stack, younger twin too
The last outpost before the burn surfaced again
Dancing and draining towards the edge
Skipping and skimming, boys boats built
Of blades of grass, of sticks, of leaf
Of sweetie wrapper, chasing, racing

Dipping, diving lost to the surface
Before the roar of the edge
But still they swept the Rock Heads
Drunk and dying and plunging to the beach
The bottom and beyond the cold Atlantic waters
And I knew now I could not turn
Back the tide of time

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