Friday Poem

The wrong time of the year, but I only discovered this one by Spike Milligan this week:


It was summer
On the lake hung a golden haze
It was Summer
It was one of those endless days
so we talked
through a field of clover
and over a sheepspun hill
and it seemed it would last forever
and it did
until..
came the evening
we swung on a garden gate
it was heaven
you were seven and I was eight
and we watched the stars suspended
walking home down an apple lane
me and rosie
a doll..
a daisychain..
on an evening that would never come again