Through the Knothole In the Fence

Through The Knothole in The Fence

a poem by Cliff Eastham

Through the knothole in the fence I saw

The boys of summer playing ball,

On the field of green I watched them play

In scorching sun or skies of gray.

Life went on as I was there

Content I was to sit and stare,

Frozen in time the game went on

This was my world 'til I went home.

Through the knothole in the fence I saw

A world not meant for all to see,

I knew them all, those players there

They ran, they hit, they swung, “strike three.”

Three hours a day I’d view my world

Through the knothole in the fence,

Weeks turned to months, they’d soon be gone

The leaves turned gold, the field of green was brown.

My childhood was spent behind that fence

It’s been 20 years my last game since,

I went by to see my friend, the fence

But it was gone five years hence.

Where I use to spend my afternoons

There in its place I’m sad to say,

A parking lot now stands serene

And gone forever, the field of green.

© 2009 Clifton Eastham

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