I wrote this poem seven years ago for my grandson, Cameron, who was then a toddler. He's shot up a bit since then and, at nine years old, already looks much the same as those of my generation did when teenagers. It must be something they're feeding them nowadays: confidence pills, maybe?
TOYS
Others have a toy from childhood: ragged bear
or plastic gun, the barrel jammed
with plasticine; or floppy doll with thinning hair
and one eye lost, but loved the more for that;
or broken car or grounded aeroplane;
or arrow without bow or single table tennis bat.
In age, I am diminished to have none of these,
no childhood keepsake still,
to resurrect for comfort, when sad or ill at ease;
or handle with a wistfulness, or proudly reminisce
to you, child of my own child,
how once a threadbare tiger was the object of my bliss.
or plastic gun, the barrel jammed
with plasticine; or floppy doll with thinning hair
and one eye lost, but loved the more for that;
or broken car or grounded aeroplane;
or arrow without bow or single table tennis bat.
In age, I am diminished to have none of these,
no childhood keepsake still,
to resurrect for comfort, when sad or ill at ease;
or handle with a wistfulness, or proudly reminisce
to you, child of my own child,
how once a threadbare tiger was the object of my bliss.
Lovely Richard, Mine was Little Ted.
ReplyDeleteWe don't forget them, do we John.
ReplyDeleteI guess not... http://johncbuchanan.blogspot.com/2014/05/little-ted.html
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