STANLEY PRICE HAS GONE AWAY

   STANLEY PRICE HAS GONE AWAY

Stanley Price
Played on the street every night,
Built Go-Karts
Out of old pram wheels
And apple boxes
That smelt of sweet apples.

Stanley talked all the time
Of what he was going to do
When he grew up.

His mother hated to hear him,
Knowing Stanley was planning
To go a lot further
Than the old quarry,
Much further than the sandy river,
Certain once he was gone,
He would never open
Her front door again.

And that was the end
Of camphorated rubs for ever.

             © 2020 Gwen Grant