Array ( [sid] => 142083 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Back To A Boy. [time] => 2008-05-02 19:12:45 [hometext] => Nostalgic poem. [bodytext] => Going back to when I was a boy,

To climb a tree was one great joy.

I felt the muscles in my arms and legs,

My blood flowing fast to the last dregs.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins so fast,

In my imagination I was climbing a ship's mast.

On reaching the top of the high tree,

I was bitterly disappointed there was no sea.

Scrambling quickly down from on high,

There was a satisfaction; I had nearly reached the sky.

Yes it was great fun to be a boy,

Trees and climbing my one great joy.

Why did I have to grow to an adult?

To climb a tree now is like an assault.

In my dreams I still climb trees,

Deeply breathing in the fresh breeze.

In the mornings when I awake,

I realise my tree climbing is just a fake.

And I am tempted to go into the wood,

To climb a tree as I feel I should.
[comments] => 3 [counter] => 245 [topic] => 44 [informant] => soapy [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Nostalgic ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Back To A Boy.


Back To A Boy.
Date: Friday, 2nd May 2008 @ 07:12:45 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: soapy
Going back to when I was a boy,

To climb a tree was one great joy.

I felt the muscles in my arms and legs,

My blood flowing fast to the last dregs.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins so fast,

In my imagination I was climbing a ship's mast.

On reaching the top of the high tree,

I was bitterly disappointed there was no sea.

Scrambling quickly down from on high,

There was a satisfaction; I had nearly reached the sky.

Yes it was great fun to be a boy,

Trees and climbing my one great joy.

Why did I have to grow to an adult?

To climb a tree now is like an assault.

In my dreams I still climb trees,

Deeply breathing in the fresh breeze.

In the mornings when I awake,

I realise my tree climbing is just a fake.

And I am tempted to go into the wood,

To climb a tree as I feel I should.


This poem is Copyright © soapy


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