A Present From James
In my pocket, worn bright by daily touch,
I carry a conker. A strong brown nut from
My long legged boy who threw the stick,
Who kept his eye on where his target fell,
Who placed his heel on its spiked shell
And twisted with just the right weight
Before giving this gift to me.
"Look, dad," proud, he said "It's a good 'un"
Yes, son, a good one, the best. Proudly,
I lift my head at my desk, remembering,
As I stop before the reassertion of work
To see the neighbour's chestnuts sway.
Their conic blossoms like candles
On the most ornate of birthday cakes.
A promise of more fruit for next year
For children to covet and collect.
Other pockets to fill.