Northwick Park, inside and out.
by cricketjeff on June 8, 2009. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
New generations playing in the street.
The trees I climbed when I was fresh and wild,
Now bent beneath much younger pairs of feet.
Where once a stream had giggled past the field
And minnows hid from jamjars held on string,
A tarmaced path keeps nature well concealed;
Modernity has tidied everything.
The rugby pitch where I first broke a tooth,
A driving range where golfers learn to hit.
The lovers den of early misspent youth
Now keeps my balding age-group nearly fit.
Inside my long-ago’s a jumbled pile,
Confusing scenes I cannot rearrange;
Some memories revived to make me smile
And others lost beneath unwanted change.
The sun descends, reflecting off my bus.
I shrug and leave a past I cannot own.
The fool in me demands I make a fuss
While sanity says “leave today alone.”
In forty years another man may pass –
Regretting changes I cannot foresee.
This stretch of lovely green suburban grass
Belongs to many children, not just me.