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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required My mother truly was a most creative creature, And our backyard was just a child’s dream place to play in, From swing set whose design could access high tree branches Ensconced in sandy playground, purposed child’s own welfare Protecting kids from what one could call ‘swinging error’. A huge elm tree that shaded our backyard completely, A swing with ladder, chin up bar, and pole for sliding, Its twelve foot peak was just below a branch quite sturdy That access gave to higher limbs beyond controlling, And dirt-clod fort sixty feet up well worth extolling A wooden perch and orange crate box became a refuge, By holding ammo and what treasures I put up there, My dirt-clod weapons hauled aloft by rope and bucket, With little fear of trespass by my younger sister, And news and music courtesy of new transistor. But pinnacle of backyard gifts was mom’s creation, Of children’s houses built of wood framed card board panels When I brought such a box from work for us to play in By breaking down appliance boxes for new uses Constructing what looked more like homes with no excuses. A kitchen knife could easily carve door or window With different boxes shape a home of many pieces And like a crossword puzzle nail a home together. A world of possibility was what she showed us And fun will surely come to those who find accomplice Brian Johnston February 10, 2015
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