The adventurer

The adventurer dons her coat,
It’s hardwearing and hardworn,
It’s just a little tatty,
And on the left, the pocket’s torn.

She picks up her old satchel,
With it’s gadgets and it’s widgets,
The watch she wears is special,
It has diamonds on the digits.

There is food stored in her rucksack,
Strapped firmly to her back,
There’s a flask in her belt holder,
For nothing does she lack.

She’s off on her adventures,
An explorer she will be,
Remembering her mothers words,
“Be back before your tea.”

“I’m eight years old, I’ll tell you.”
She proudly does declare,
As she steps into the wilderness,
Avoiding the garden chair.

Down the pathway of the Amazon,
Through the vines of Ulumbuto,
Native plantations growing wild,
The lake of Minnisoto.

The swing across the chasm,
That brings her to her knees,
Then lunch in the hunters cabin,
She eats her ham and cheese.

Remembering her mothers words,
She steps out once again,
Past the orchards of exotic fruit,
And on through the lions den.

It’s getting rather late,
She stopped to draw a flower,
Distracted by the perfume,
It held a certain power.

She hears the cries,
They call her name,
She has to reach,
The path again.

There has to be,
A quicker way,
To get home safe,
And sound today.

Following the voice,
She avoids the chasms swing,
She’s found a better route,
No malingering.

Her tea is done,
Her mother smiles,
She’s tired now,
She’s travelled miles.

“Did you have a good adventure?”
“It was dangerous,” she replies.
“Tomorrow, I’ll build an aeroplane,
And adventure through the skies.”

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