The Keyhole
by Walter de Jong
Our cave we called the Keyhole,
we’d climb up there to see
the ferry carrying families
that drove out to the beach.
I’d sit there and imagine
floods rising high back then
to carve for us this keyhole
then rejoin the world again.
That door opened secretly
to millennia before
the cars, the ferry, boats and planes,
schools and rules and laws
And now…The ferry’s gone, and rust has taken
cars and boats and planes.
While I move on the Keyhole stays,
the secret place remains.
- Submitted in response to 2016 Poetry Prompt #1
Australian Children’s Poetry 
I really like this poem, Walter. My secret space was inside an empty upturned water tank. Perhaps it was/is common for children to have inside places like caves and even water tanks to hide.
Lovely thoughtful poem
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