A poem: for Olive

2 ponds, 2 babies.
You are the ying to my yang.
Causing havoc, running amok round beaches to fields.
A blob of Blondie and a brown bob, 2 dots darting from adventure to the next.

'lets swim' - 'its too cold' - 'the kettle?' - 'awsome...!'

The Bath. A whole bottle of dreams emptied into our Mediterranean sea.
Where we scuba-dived for lost treasures and found each others foot.

Mission impossible: under the security beams that clinked when you touched them.
down the slippery steps of ice. Into the chamber of leisure. And back again.

Shoot. I dont have a dvd player anymore. Shoot.

Growing up with screams and tantrums. The rebellious hippies.
Tearing through our teenage years dragging our loaded past behind us like a boulder round our ankles. Parents never forget.

You my drop of spanish gold are a friend i shall treasure. For even though we are separated by a sea i know you suffer your own raging storms too and we are in the same pea green rowing boat, trying to make it to the otherside.