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/