Preserving the Memories

Preserving the Memories
 
In our mother-sewn dresses and cardboard-lined shoes
we'd play out til our bellies complained.
No downward-turned faces; our hide ‘n seek places
were solace on days that it rained,
but blue-skied umbrellas and cobwebby cellars
were merely the backdrops for fun
for no matter the weather, when we were together
our summer days rolled into one.
 
We might tramp in the long grass in outdated garb
wielding swords made of thorn-removed stems;
daisy-chain coronets made ladies and baronets
whose eyes shone like brilliant gems.
Though shiny-bright farthings might save us from starving
we wasted no time to acquire
til the fifth of November when every gang member
would forage for fuel for the fire.
 
And up would go kindling in mountainous piles and
up would come chins propped with pride
We’d wheedled and pleaded, we’d polished and weeded
and cast nets of hope far and wide.
A flat cap, a topper, a bowler--how proper--
our Guy must be dressed for his part!
An evil-faced scoundrel propped up in his tumbril
which once served as nifty go-cart.
 
Ah, the heavensent mem’ries that now are  preserved 
by dint of some paper and ink
no one could eradicate, undo or deprecate
stories in cloth that won’t shrink.
Though fewer in number are those who remember
what life pre-computers was like,
I’ll do duty gladly, though ever so sadly
my thumb pushed deep into the dyke.