At the May Fayre,
the years fall away.
The reedy voice of Punch
echoed from childhood
across the village green.
Today’s children
sit enthralled,
as I had sat,
a lifetime ago
when childhood
was a warmer thing.
Still the crocodile,
Judy and the policeman
share a half hours
wonderment
playing with imaginations.
“That’s the way to do it.”
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