Climbing trees and swinging

like some human ape.

Who needs cricket on

such a glorious morning

as this? But growling

grumbles spoils the morning

spark and sullen feet

and moping mouth trudge

back to join the

team and somehow win

at something least liked

and alien to anything

remotely loving adulation towards

a father caring little

except to raise sons

who will follow his

footsteps to wealth and

glory. Tell me, father,

how did that go?


© 2017 L. Tafa


Author: b20f08

I enjoy solo wargaming and writing. The first caters to the boy that never grew up; the latter satisfies a deep desire to communicate. Cheers.

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