Saturday, 26 November 2016

29th October 2016

My two boys have left home
As boys were wont to do
Once all grown up were they and boys no more
And like most boys their age
As well as some girls too
Their roots were like old garments they once wore:
Forgotten like the past
And lost somewhere in time
So far back that remembering's a chore.

One loves climbing rooftops,
The other loves to fight
But doesn't mind a cuddle now and then
Unlike the rooftop cat
Who struggles while being kissed
As most boys would before the count of ten
But it wouldn't be so bad
If they did what people do
With telephones or postcards and a pen.

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