A Night walker.... aged seven..
A door opens and a young boy walks out into the street,
He makes for the field at the top of his road.
As he stands in the field he looks up to the night sky
And starts to cry.
A passing talking frog, one that always seems to be in stories,
Asks, \"why are you crying young man, it\'s such a beautiful night\".
The boy replied as he looks up,\"it\'s just all too much,
I\'m so very Frightened all the time\".
\"But the stars are very far away, they cannot hurt you\", the talking
Frog replied.
\"It\'s not the stars that frighten me\", said the boy, he then left.....
For some, the night is for sleep,
To others, it\'s a time they will weep.
And for those it\'s a time they must work,
To others, in the darkness they\'ll lurk.
For me, the night was for escaping,
From life, that was not of my making.
So alive did I feel for those few hours,
Not locked, in my step fathers jail towers.
I would sit by the road, stroking the local cats,
They to loved the nights, for searching out rats.
I\'d eat vegetables grown, in my neighbours back gardens,
Avoiding those, naughty boy catching wardens.
I was king of my streets, a prince of this place,
No one could catch me, in an even foot race.
I would stay out until, the first rise of sun rays,
But would be absolutely shattered, all of the next days.
I\'m now in my fifties and look back on those times,
Of that young boy alone, walking streets and telephone lines.