Sandwiches and sticky buns on a picnic in the park.
Camping by a riverbank and fishing 'til it's dark.
Chugging up a mountain in an old victorian train.
Picking ripe wild strawberries in the pouring rain.
Holidays with my grandpa were filled with lots to do,
in his shed, we'd both make kites with paper string and glue.
Excursions to the seaside meant swimming in the sea,
exploring rock pools, flying kites and fish and chips for tea.
Those were the days, when I was small, a lad, no more than eight,
now, I stand here, strong and tall, at my grandpa's gate,
he's only here in spirit now, though memories fill my mind,
and when my grandsons visit me, they are there for me to find
A contest entry
- Prewrites by Sandra R Reynolds.
400 points, ended November 2, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
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Beautiful memories. Spend time with your grandson make each minute count.
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