Dirty little rascal. King-of-the-Castle! Playing in a bombsite making it a world of his own. Truly an emperor of his own imagination.
Nosing through the dereliction to be the architect of a secret hideout, high above it all in an eyrie where plans and adventures are hatched.
Grubby knees show all the scrapes of the chase. Bricks and sticks and corrugated iron; nettles and barbed wire lash out with a viper’s tongue.
The question mark burns bright with innocence of youth. Everything seems big because he is small, everything is possible, easy and enchanted.
As we grow older, when we leave this Never-Never land, we forget how to play.