Stroke-A-Back
“Stroke-a-back
stroke-a-back
someone’s going to touch you
in a moment from now,
I’ll draw the snake
but I won’t end it.”
The old gas light flickers
above the old school wall,
a game of “Stroke-a-back”
To the song of the Swan waterfall.
Pastoral faces full of laughter
innocence disembogue,
a time to relish
this evanescent vogue.
A fall pipe to clamber
a railway bank to view,
our cottage upon Sugar Hill
Where the flowers once grew.
Pea-shooting bobbins
From Town head Mill,
A Burnside clangour
from a spinning shed of skill.
In unison sincere looms clatter
Gates Of head scarves bobbing up and down,
Reed-Hook used with aptitude
a woven piece for “Half-a-crown.”
Eternity for the shuttle
Weft and Warp intertwine,
mortal weaver in traction
for that packet of “Woodbine.”
The mighty Oak and Sycamore
shaking off the morning dew,
mist that mingled undaunted
footprints that followed the view.
For there, where twilight kisses the breeze
behold carpets of Lavender Blue,
The sweet scent of the Honeysuckle
Clement “Nesfield” Grew.
If one could walk within a memory
caress a perpetual dream,
then one would have to believe in miracles
a mislaid youth to redeem.
'Stroke-a-Back' is a hide and seek game'
© Harry J Horsman 1995
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