This is a picture, from about Year 2000 of the maple tree that I fell from when I was 11 years old, during the summer of 1965. I had turned 12 in September of 1965. I took some artistic liberty and wrote in my poem that I was 12, at the time of my fall from the towering maple. It was easier to rhyme 12 than 11.
By Richard Mabey Jr.
I once fell,
from my old tree fort,
like a rock falling in the well,
the time of falling was so short.
When I crashed upon the earth,
blood poured out of my right knee,
there came a feeling of little worth,
pain filled every fiber within me.
I screamed, I cried,
I beat the ground,
my mother tried,
her voice was soothing sound.
My father pressed hard on my thigh,
to stop the blood flowing out.
Neighbors raced to our yard,
while I let out moan and sigh,
and pain swirled all about,
the fall to earth, so painfully hard.
Today, on my right knee,
on the lateral side,
a scar is there for all to see,
it’s just impossible to hide.
I’m so glad to be a man,
for my legs are filled,
with scars of childhood disasters.
I feel for every woman,
who must be aptly skilled,
to hide all scars, the art she masters.
For all men,
are basically chauvinist pigs,
and look for women,
to be void of cuts, scars and digs.