She wobbled on the verge of the cobbles,
which appeared as if by surprise. Giggling
she walked across the bumpy terrain
and balanced on her toes.
Looking up, she laughed to her Dada,
‘Cobbles!’ she laughed,’ not in a book
or on a film nor in Minecraft.
Cobbles!’ she shouted and tripping lightly, fell.
Collapsed on the unforgiving cobbles, tears of rage,
turning to sobs, as strong arms encircled
the grieving body, that had not bounced,
instead on those cobbles was bruised.
Restored confidence, by loves tender hugging,
she sprightly strode over the rounded lumps
and holding a hand lightly, advanced to
the tightly packed tarmac.
Thinking herself safe she tried to let go
even as cars hurried by, grabbing but gently,
his voice called her, hands locked,
his daughter safe from their threat.
Ambling on they came to the doors,
a place of cheery fun , with slides
and cushioned ways, lights and ladders
child friendly and Dada relaxes.
There were tears and even bumps,
although softened surfaces and padded falls
there were slips but playing with balls and slides
tears dry fast amidst the fun.
Too soon going home she pouts and protests
and is reminded of the cobbles waiting;
and looking at them sees fun and smiles
at those lumpy forgiven cobbles.