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PostPosted: Tue Apr 17, 2018 9:17 pm
by Saturn

Storm drain tossed,
We thought treasure
Had been unearthed
Immaculate in form.
A blade, a cutlass
We believed: surely
Armada plunder or
Discarded weapon
Of a warrior gone
To clay and dust.

Excited plans were
Made, our eyes wide
With excitement of
Being hailed young
Discoverers, praised
For such a miraculous
And priceless artefact
Pulled from the sludge.

Childhood's adventure,
Our dream of Goonies
Was crushed when in
Light of day and
Examined by that
Discerning, parental
Expertise, our hopes
Were dashed to find
Our Excalibur was
A lowly poker, fit for
Tackling flaming coal,
Not the enemy's ranks,
Or swung in anger at
Advancing Pirate hordes.

That shining sword is
A relic now of youth,
An exhibit of the mind
In perspex, labelled,
Catalogued precisely:
Testament of imagination,
A fond record of days
When each one brought
A new quest; every glint,
Every flash of silver was
A hoard of treasure, and
All that glittered WAS gold.