MUSHROOMS
When I was knee-high to a man
And fields were free
We picked mushrooms
On mornings such as this
Barbed wire, where it existed,
Was negotiable.
Now the Stalag-masters have returned
And fenced us out
Or is it in?
from my new collection of poetry ’67’ – http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/67/
My Writing Life 
I like the perspective twist.
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Thank you for that ,michaelnjohns.
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