A solitary wooden swing, swinging in distress…
The majestic sand-castle echoing its lonliness.
Paper boats, marbles and kites strewn across the floor…
Unstrung, uncared for…not needed anymore.
Peter Pan lies captivated beneath moth-eaten books in cream….
The magical path to NeverLand now seems a distant dream.
Boxes of scrabble…the stiffled voices of joy…. jungle-gyms stand empty…
A cruel cruel ploy!
And as glasses of untouched ice-cream shed creamy tears in brown…
God let go of the reins with a warning frown…..
( THE PIED PIPER OF HAMLIN CAME ON GOD'S URGENT CALL...HE IS STILL THERE, POLISHING HIS MAJESTIC PIPE AS LITTLE PARTHO SCRUBS AWAY THE PROUD BLACK BOOTS OF MR.SEN...PARTHO WON'T BE DOING THAT FOR TOO LONG NOW...HE WON'T...)
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