© 2007 Steve Campsall
Conkers
Yellow-veined, leafy fingers wave
To greet the coming of Autumn,
Hiding the fruits of summer's quiet labour -
Perfect, prickly parcels of childhood glee;
Wind-fall gifts that excited, young hands
Gather, crush and open to reveal
Nature's roundest, brownest, shiniest jewel -
Yet, a jewel whose fate is now sealed:
A myriad of Life's secrets to be lost
As Death's approach comes ever nearer;
A future no longer as a towering tree;
Yet, still there is hope of victory -
In a schoolday conker fight;
And a place in a childhood dream.