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We really were mucky little bastards

Fields of luck

Evil-minionby Ethel Twigg20 Apr 2015

Playing as a lad
in green fields full of cow pats
considered lucky by the superstitious few
using them as bombs in our games of war
until Danny ran home crying for his mom
smelling like a sewer.

The fields of luck were our battleground
our fitness, our forts and freedom
The smell of raw nature
walking home
the pungent fug repelling all
but the best of friends
setting sun behind us on our playtime
in the fields of luck