Do Children Still Climb Trees?

Lest we forget

Apparently yesterday was National Poetry Day, by some decree or other, and the theme was Play. This is another one of those poems I drafted years ago and keep picking away at. I don’t know if it’s done, but here it is.

Do Children Still Climb Trees?

Toward the bottom of this hill
a dog-messed path leads through the woods
down to a whispering ghyll.
Across the stream is a low-hung bough
where someone has strung a simple trapeze
to swing in tune with the breeze as it ripples
the fish-scale shimmer of leaves.
I dreamed this a playground for my child,
but children are nowhere to be seen.

I used to roost at the top of a poplar
that stood beside our back door,
up at the very crown, enthroned
on a favourite branch looking down.
I spied on a world that couldn’t see me
through a veil of summer foliage,
reached my perch with practised ease,
each barefoot step raising me
to where I could be alone

and stay

until the call to come in for tea.
Led by my belly, footing less sure,
the descent was ungainly and slow.
Wild arboreal creature no more,
I fumbled in faltering reverse,
afraid of a fall until I could feel
the ground beneath my feet.
Relieved at a return to earth,
I bore the proof of my achievement,
pleased with the sting of grazed knees.

Do children still climb trees?

Thanks to Tama66 on Pixabay for the image