Brother
When we were kids, you liked to torment me, go to the park and climb the highest tree.
Run across gullies at high speed, leave me on the other side with shaking knees.
But then there were days by the TV watching Banana splits and Christopher Lee.
Going to the fields to hide in long grass then run round the streets and fall on our arse.
We moved like gypsies from place to place, new schools, new people, we accepted our fate.
The boy with the golden hair was by my side and I wasn’t lonely cause we were best mates.
Then came the day we no longer roamed, found schools with good teachers, at last we were home.
We got on our bikes to explore the estate; cautious and wary we sped round the place.
To our surprise the kids were friendly and fun, not hostile or tough, or in your face.
Young ones, older ones, boys and girls, down by the brook all summer long.
Through escapades, bonfires, occasional tiffs, the Steppingstone gang stayed strong.
Copyright © Wendy Sayers | Year Posted 2026
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