Tuesday, 9 June 2015



That reach is what I remember –

In a time that stretched
Like a distant ball
Of childhood
Clasped in both hands;

A globe of time
Endless sunsets;
The rapture of unreserved

No trials to drag one down
Only team-mates and the ball;
The occasional stumble of pain cured
By the purgative power of play.

In adulthood - the hour
Gets shorter; led
Like sheep to the slaughter;
Too many rules -

Deprived of time and its tools,
They say - hardship keeps us
on the ball,
But these days -

I don’t like it when I fall.


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