The Bent Branch
When I was young I spent some holidays
With my grand-parents at their house in Kilburn
My grand-father loved his garden
And although having lost a leg in a railway accident
He spent hours growing his fruit and vegetables
Tilling the soil those grand summer’s days
There were no other children around
But that didn’t matter to me
For I could entertain myself
There was a Moreton Bay Fig Tree
Growing and spreading in their backyard
And about halfway up the tree there was a bent branch
I climbed the tree and sat on the branch
The height meant I could see
Easily into the neighbours backyard
It seemed like I was on top of the world
And I would play there everyday so happily
Inventing my own world and what I could see of it from there
One day I would be a bomber pilot flying over Nazi Germany
I would fly through the flak and defending fighters
The next day I would would an astronaut circling the earth
And I would marvel at the earth below
For my imagination would take me anywhere
That I wanted to go in my own world.
© Paul Warren Poetry
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