Dirty Knees
Dirty Knees
A little child of a puddled street,
With ragged shoes upon his feet,
And not a care to spoil his day,
Just live to be with his mates and play.
Not clean and tidy, ‘all in place’,
No fun in that, with a glowing face,
But marked and scraped from climbing trees,
With scruffy grimy dirty knees.
All trademarks of a young lads day,
When let out on his own to play,
Within his gang, his pals, his team,
Living in this boyhood dream.
And such adventures did he find,
That live forever in his mind,
To recall to mind when’er he please,
Those scruffy, grimy, dirty knees.
Mick.
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