Casey Andrews

The Ghosts of Amsterdam Wood

In the summer,

In the churchyard,

We’d try to find,

Lord Falklands tomb.

Through the church woods,

Past chewy monsters,

And smokers den.

In the summer,

On the footpaths,

We’d walk for miles,

Talking of life,

Under the church bridge,

Into the river,

Graffiti walls.

In the future,

Dreams envisaged,

We’d see for miles,

All unbeknown,

Dreaming of life,

Past hay bales and dens,

Futures untouched.