In Memory Of Monk Hills

Whilst school lessons get grey in years long past, O Monk Hills, what ye taught rests etched in head, Decades pass and time moves fleeting ahead, How memories— happy and not— still last! For years I roamed upon your breasts, brown-red, In search of your sweet treats and shades serene; So deep an impress easy it won't fade From my mind's wistful eyes, ever so keen For raw adventures and innocent thrills, In pallid brown and green tints of summer Sun, filtering through grey garments of hills, Boys' bawdy pranks for dry girlie humour, Derisive of today's greying grave cares, Alas, time, marching on, no old times spares! ______________________________________________________ Monk Hills: There were two small hills on two sides of my school. To us they were Timbher Hills for the fruits (lemon sized with a hard brown shell when ripe, containing whitish sweet pulp inside)growing there aplenty. The ‘sweet treats' refers to these fruits. I recall boys and girls in an expedition would rush there in a short recess time to pluck ripe fruits, and later when ripe ones were no more available, to bury the raw under-ground, and wait for a few days to get them when they ripen, if not already raided by the rival gang! ______________________________________________________ Sonnets | 01.12.12 | Topic: school, adventures, hills