Poem: Three Little Birds

A poem about playing tag back as a kid. The games we played...

We were playing tag — and when he
was ‘it’ he ran away from us. He kept

making these piles of stones — we played
on the climing frame, until, finally bored,

we went over to see what he’d been doing.
He’s spelled out, in these giant stone piles,

the words “You’re Next!” And he’d arranged
three dead birds — and while reading and

taking it all in, he swooped down from a
tree to tag all three of us. Then laughed,

said, “don’t worry about a thing”. This
was the exact start of the worrying…