Roger Turner
Summer Holidays
Give me back again that dreamy feeling
When school is over, and the holidays stretch out
Further than the eye can see,
When September is a word my mother
Uses for some unwanted, hazy coastline
Beyond the faint horizon.
There will be days—an endless drift of days—
How many I don't know, but just now I am rich
With days. Spendthrift and prodigal,
I shall idle through the afternoons,
Play with my rabbit in the garden, persuade
The neighbour's cat to pounce
On tantalising strands of string, make houses
From old sticks and blankets or devise wild games
Requiring swords and dressing up.
I shall eat my tea alone, an infant
Napoleon planning and plotting in his tent
On the back garden lawn.
Looking up I find tall, sudden cliffs
Around me. The wind's behind me and the tide is full,
My pockets are all empty and I
Am destitute to pay the landing fee.
All spent. All squandered. Days—Where have they gone,
Those summers, those endless days?
When school is over, and the holidays stretch out
Further than the eye can see,
When September is a word my mother
Uses for some unwanted, hazy coastline
Beyond the faint horizon.
There will be days—an endless drift of days—
How many I don't know, but just now I am rich
With days. Spendthrift and prodigal,
I shall idle through the afternoons,
Play with my rabbit in the garden, persuade
The neighbour's cat to pounce
On tantalising strands of string, make houses
From old sticks and blankets or devise wild games
Requiring swords and dressing up.
I shall eat my tea alone, an infant
Napoleon planning and plotting in his tent
On the back garden lawn.
Looking up I find tall, sudden cliffs
Around me. The wind's behind me and the tide is full,
My pockets are all empty and I
Am destitute to pay the landing fee.
All spent. All squandered. Days—Where have they gone,
Those summers, those endless days?
Page(s) 27
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