Oh Winterbourne
Look over the gates, faraway under white plastic shelters
protecting rubbery black paths leading you through doors
where you could go back to basics
of milk and carpets,
counting cubes and teddy bears picnics;
classrooms of memories the backdrop
where true happiness reigned
and first loves were discovered
through short stories written during playtime,
as others ran wildly across grey shores
around a bright boat sailing nowhere
or swung their feet from faded benches of wood;
screams echoing through streets
giving way to soundtracks of innocent laughter
as children smile in red, white and black
little shields imprinted on jumpers,
sometimes holding hands as they walk two by two
all set for learning.
