Scrumping (Peter’s poem)

It was inside that type of lazy summers day

somewhere between late August and noon,

the first time that I saw him standing there

with mild mischief smeared across his face

and a gleeful grin that broke so suddenly

stray as a sunbeam falling from the canopy.

He was staring most intently down from that tree

I doubted he even noticed me, go stumbling below.

Until I heard him shout “catch this one please”

down it tumbled shining reddish gold, smooth

to touch, I felt the curves of Scallywag as it formed.

“Whatever are you doing up there?” I called

Intrigued to find this face among the branches

“So you don’t you know?” he exclaimed in disbelief

“why scrumping for the finest words of course”

*a very non-birthday poem*


5 responses to “Scrumping (Peter’s poem)

  1. You are such a sweetie, Abi 🙂 I adore my non-birthday poem ~ lol 🙂 And I love that you have me up a tree, knees scratched, arse-end hanging out of my trousers as I search for the juiciest words … brilliant! I shall print out my poem, share it with Ally, who will love it, & then give it pride of place in my study. Sincere thanks, super-chum :)) x

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