‘Twas past her bedtime
So I put her to bed.
Read me a story she said.
Knowing not more than me when I was ten
The honey bear and Blyton were called upon again.
If sleep was a friend
Some shame must have passed
For he had found his abode someplace far.
She cocked her head, with a look of disbelief,
“It’s a plain ol’ elephant and tree!”
With an arrow that pierced the depth of my soul,
I tried to explain; and myself console,
The heffalump in its fantastical form
And the house inside a tree trunk.
As I battled to keep my childhood alive,
Her army surrendered,
To my friend who had blundered.
I rescued my past, but left it’s soul on the battlefield
Hoping that one day she would follow it’s lead.
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