My First Book
It was so long ago just after Noah
The flood had subsided for a while
I was only five, very short and stubby
I stood in our garden just being
It was as if an angel spoke to me
Little boy I have a book for you
The lady was from the cottage
A thatched bungalow round the corner
Mrs Garard was her name
We would watch her walk by
A book for me I could not believe
I thanked her as you would thank an Angel
Tales of the Greenwood was mine to love
The story of Robin of the Greenwood
His activities and how he helped all his people
Then a sad ending where he was bled
A quiet way to leave and journey on
As I remember this for ever and a day
Gave the book to my niece as I went away
Because I joined the RAF when very young
Many years past It was sent back to me
Just as it was when the lady gave it.
Her face and beauty, has lasted all these years
A memory worth holding, it calmed my fears
Comments
I like...
this a lot, but I think you tried for too much brevity. Short [and] stubby
A great story, but I would have liked more about the kind lady and how the story of Robin Hood sustained you during the time in the RAF. ~ Geezer.
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Gee
Didn't want to cause a stir but I may if there is time edit the piece.
You take care and watch out, Digit is about lol xx
Nothing stirs...
the mind of men as much as the threat of being wrong. You keep saying the truth and sooner or later; most everyone will recognize it. ~ Gee.
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Gee
It is strange that your comment came through and sank its teeth into my reasons. There in the light trying not to fall into the shadows I stood as a young man, the book and its influence on me had never thought of it in that way..
I have journeyed many a pathway, and met many at the several cross roads, there are where each life though being different seems to be a joining of energies.
I suppose I will have to wait to ask the elders about these meetings, and the influence they have on the life of me or the other person at that junction..
There we must learn of each other, as we do when writing poetry, 90% of mine is as life happens the other 10% is fiction..
Our fiction as writers is limited, as Jess use to say, that what we write is a reflection on a life's problem or happening, ( I miss the man) he was as a brother to me, but spoke many truths and this was one of them..
This will do for a while young one I am becoming tired, probably an age thing, where we reflect on time to come and many times past..
Take care out there and protect yourselves from that nasty virus..
Yours as always Ian ..