The Ant Rocks

A long-awaited exchange
Of mutual existence
Recalls a name, long-forgotten
But instantly familiar.

As children, thrown unceremoniously
Into holidays and grandparents,
The rocks of Westward Ho!
Were a cornucopia of caves
In which to hide and seek,
To laugh and dream.

So we called them ’The Ant Rocks’
Because we were tiny as insects
In our pale skins we would soon outgrow,
Tiny as ants,
In a world we wrongly believed
Was run by the ’grown-ups’.