A misshapen old man

that barred our way to school.

We would sidle past, caps over our eyes,

the aged oak in Greenfield Avenue,

so wide the path went round it;

startling, lurid growths

broke away from its crevices,

crumbling at a touch.

 

Aware of beauty, we gathered

cobwebs, glistening with dew

and sunlight, netting them as gleaming fish

in rock pools, with bent twigs.

In those days we still saw hedgehogs,

they weren’t unusual, bumbling along

in front of our footsteps,

or curled up, defying calamity.