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Another Joy Lost

Peter Goulding

Thursday, October 9th, 2003

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Dad thought it took me very long
To come back home from school,
I must be doing something wrong,
Or else I was a fool.
He never ever figured why
I’d not get home much quicker,
For little did he know that I
Was such a great stone kicker.
Coming out of school, I’d find
A stone I could adapt,
Not too large, but well-defined,
Rounded, smooth and apt.
The rules were very simple – I’d
To dribble home the stone.
But if, perchance I broke my stride,
Then victory was blown.
If it rolled into the shore,
I’d chip it and retrieve it,
But if it went a yard or more,
I’d have to curse and leave it.
Sometimes it vanished down a drain,
Or maybe in a ditch.
And then I’d give the old refrain
That life was just a bitch.
But any stone that reached our door
Was very well rewarded,
The crowd let out a massive roar
And everyone applauded.
I’d say it was my lucky stone,
And keep it ‘neath my bed,
Until my mother had a moan
And clipped me round the head.
I don’t kick stones at all these days,
In case I scuff my shoes-
Another joy lost in the haze
As “wisdom” pays its dues.

© Peter Goulding 9th October 2003

Notes

Am I the only one who did this?
I am?
Oh dear…..

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/another-joy-lost/