At A Fifth Of My Present Age,
In A Forest Camp Of Rusty Tin,
We Boys Protected Our Patch
With Catapult And Arrow, Against
Our Dreaded Enemy; Those
Other Lads‚  From Different Woods.
Today, Sometimes, I See The Enemy,
Pushing Their Grandchildren In Parks.
I Reach For My Catapult, Pull
On The Thick Elastic Of Yesterday,
And Shout ‘Remember Me