by Richard Ellis

Created on: June 16, 2009

Woodlands

Not far from where I once did live,
Was an old growth stand of woodland,
It was a place of stately pine wood trees,
Hardwoods and live oaks of stature so grand.

A small brook ran through the heart of it,
With a great fallen tree for bridge to serve,
Paradise for boys with adventurous hearts,
To stretch their imagination and test their nerve.

Using home-made bows and arrows we hunted,
The small wild game and birds of the wood,
Though never harming any creature there;
Our marksmanship being not so good.

Rope swings were hung from the oaks' great bows,
To be used as our imagination might dictate,
They were Tarzan's vines in the African jungle,
Or ships rigging from which to fight the pirate.

There were rickety forts built in the trees,
From which to fend off the make-believe foemen,
Who were always after our gold and riches,
But were never a match for our fearless bowmen.

The fragrance of earth and flora there,
The sounds of birdsong and small game at play,
The sheer joy we had playing in those old woods,
I have never forgotten to this very day.

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