At Barlin Park

Summers end at Barlin park
beneath St. Bartholomew’s
I’d climb the stone bulwark
slippery and wet with dew
and see the town anew

then I would jump free
to the soft grass below
on scraped hands and knee
as others would follow
and roll away triumphantly

and the monkey bars will call
and we clamber up the device
arm over arm we’d crawl
through a gauntlet of pipes
till at last our breath sufficed

no one remembered home
and we wished for the rain
scanning the clouds that roam
as we cleared the grass of grain
where last summer we had lain

come at last the first raindrops
from skies turning grey and dim
I’d close my eyes to the drops
till water reach grass tips rim
and lift me off a carpet of green