The Hole in the Hedge

Something beckoned us from beyond.
We knew what would happen if we crawled through the hedge
Into the forbidden land
Ruled over by the big-booted farmer,
Ruled over by his big-booted wife.
And besides, it was lunchtime.
To prove I was a normal fun-loving child,
I scrambled through the scratchy hedge,
Nose to back trouser pocket with my brother.
A flood of green, real green, shocked us,
For all we had seen before through the hedge
Had been a small circle of green,
But this green rolled on and on
For what seemed like miles to our young eyes.
All our brains could digest was green carpet
Spangled with bold buttercups
That came alive under the noon, butter sun
Which smiled down at us,
Comfortingly, through our tea-shirts.
It was all too much.
The warmth, the green, the bigness,
The Adventure.
I simply had to nibble my brother’s ear
And with no one to say ‘dont’, I did.
He said ‘dont’ so I didnt.
Those ears, how they suffered
As we walked and walked.
The beauty of that smiling, friendly land of green,
With its smelly, shy, French labourers
Could have been sliced with a knife.
But something beckoned us from beyond,
So we scrambled home through the scratchy hedge,
Away from new found beauty.
Now, the margarine sun shines down indifferently
Onto neatly dissected fields,
And even if the grass was as green,
The hole in the hedge has shrunk.

(I wrote this when I was about 14)

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