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We played hide and seek
Running around the park.
And a game called british bulldogs,
It really was a lark.

Then there was scrumping apples
And getting chased off by the man.
How we loved knock and run,
Oh, how fast we ran.

Of course there was footie
Sometimes fifteen a side.
On tv we watched the flintstones,
And laughed until we cried.

The sweetshop sold gobstoppers
Or maybe a sherbet dab,
A shiny stick of liquorice
Or an exciting lucky bag.

Our parents couldn't get us in,
How we loved to play.
There just never seemed to be
Enough hours in the day.

But our kids are technophobes,
They think we're dinosaurs.
Scoffing at our 'good old days'
Thinking we were bores.

I despair at the internet,
Technology, at a cost
Children glued to ipads,
A proper childhood lost.

I can imagine in the future
There's a point our kids will reach,
All contact will be online,
They'll have lost the power of speech.

Fresh air, and playing out
Will seem a relic from the past.
I fear there's no going back,
For the techno die is cast.






Entry for It's The End Of The Forms Series - Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Broken Wings
5/10/2017

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