Treasure Island

Barry N Williams

(Dublin)

Holidays


Green fields filled with canvas hills,
Triangles, rectangles, domes and tunnels,
Stretched as far as the eye can see,
All the colours of the rainbow,
Children laughing, running and playing,
Smoke rising from stoves and barbeques,
Melodies rising from guitars, fiddles and penny whistles,
Voices raised in song,
All bathed in summer moonlight,
Warm night breezes blow gently,
Stirring short cut lush green grass,
Many loud voices,
Many different tongues,
All mingle together to form the chorus of holiday joy,
The clink clink of bottles and glasses,
Add to the cacophony of happiness,
Night grows old and voices die,
Little sleepy heads lye down,
Wrapped in warm soft sleeping bags,
Zipped up to the neck,
The last trails of smoke rise from dying embers,
Clinking silenced until,
The rustling of plastic bags by morning light.

Submitted: Thursday, September 12, 2013
Edited: Thursday, September 12, 2013

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