Remembering my dear sister Joyce.

In years gone by,
You and I,
Went up the lane to play.
Up the bank we would climb,
Through nettles and thorns,
Leaving our skin torn.
You always went first Joyce,
To haul me up onto the branch,
Where I was entranced,
By the thick green leaves
Of our nut tree.
I think of those days,
When we escaped the rage,
To enter a different world.
We were pirates on the high seas'
With grubby knees,
Shouting "Slice the main brace,"
Or "leave him to his fate."
I always talked of going to China,
Which fascinated me,
Just to see, what it was like.
I still remember Joyce,
How your eyes would light up,
When you said, "I am going
To marry a rich man, if I can."
As the afternoon drifted by,
We would sigh,
That we had to go home.
But, you always said,
"We have still got time
To play ghosts, you know,
As long as you don't go
Getting scared."
Our nut tree was a refuge
and a friend, but in the end,
It got cut down.