The icy snow sparkles in the midday sun
as we glide down on cardboard toboggans.
Scarves wrapped thrice around our necks,
overcoats buttoned to the top.
We feel no pain as we tumble off,
just laugh, and run for another go.
In the distance other children are skiing,
planks tied to their feet, sticks in hands.
Younger children have built a snowman,
coal taken from parents' bunkers for eyes.
A by-pass now runs through our playground,
this vast green used for childhood games.
Traffic cones line our slalom run.
Cars skid where we used to slide.
Lorries drive between our goalposts.
where a fantastic goal was scored.
And where a superb six was hit,
road markings show us the boundary.
Progress has left us with childhood memories
the new generation will never see.
© Copyright 2010 Ken P Duddle (UN: nightguard at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Ken P Duddle has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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