She’s got no claws,
she’s got no sting
but still she gushes in my blood;
she punctures holes in
in my thick old skin
she puts dead roses back to bud,
I held up pictures
of her climbing trees
Boys couldn’t reach those
far-off heights,but banged their
heads and cracked their fall.
then crawled back up
to kiss her knees.
(Copyright in this work has been asserted by Martin Nicholson)
Innocence ,memory and the prized recollections of days and times that seem so much simpler now ,which of course they were.
Childhood memories captured adroitly.