heehaw

Heehaw.

 

The steep incline up to the village is too hilly

Today, the north westerly blows cold, I must

Stop turn and admire the valley for a while.

 

I used to run up hear with my father’s elderly

Dog, prince, past shocked sheep grazing on

The verge, proud I was of winning every race.

 

Back then the villagers kept chicken, pigs,

Sheep and mules that wandered about, cosy

You may say, but very muddy when it rained.

 

Every house is painted white, roads asphalted,

A rural museum tourist buses, dogs on lead

Not a heehawing beast to be seen or heard.

 

Couldn’t wait to take the bus to a bigger town,

A large world and the endless ocean, it was

Only when looking back I saw my happiness.          

 

My childhood has become a picture Post-card,

An old face amongst new ones, like the donkey

Unseen and I have ceased braying long ago.