As winter draws in I thought I'd share a summer story of two young children running across a field of corn to reach their 'Treasure Island'
As golden sun and summer morn
Steal away the sultry dawn
I watch the gentle breezes sway
Across a field of ripe'ning corn.
For reason not entirely clear
My vision shifts to vistas near
As shadows dance across the path
'Adventure's' aims that hold so dear.
Tread softly child of mine, and friend,
Let not the farmer find you then,
As secret jungles you explore
With twists and turns at every bend.
Through swaying corn you cut your path
I track your progress, by your laugh
That mingles with the rising birds,
And know my stick's become your staff.
To river wide and running fast
You make your way; your die is cast.
A trickle in reality, your
Mote will ne'er the summer last.
Your Treasure Island's safely reached
With bridge defences still unbreached.
The picnic's opened, games are played,
You've both enjoyed a scrumptious feast.
The sun has passed its zenith now
And time for you to make your bow;
Adventure's end, so homeward bound
To join us for the evening chow.
Again the perils you endure,
Have you been seen? You're still not sure.
A lookout for the farmer's kept
Until you're safely home once more.
(Copyright Sherry Gloag 2005)