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