Conkers Down in our village big chestnut trees grow, branches all laden with conkers, you know; gathered by children and strung on a string, those little treasures, they gyrate and swing. I’m in the city and so far away, grown up and working to get through the day; nearby the window tall chestnut trees grin, sending me back to my school days again! Funny--a chestnut would offer to me, symbols of youth, in which I still can see conquering heroes, held high in regard over a nut in a tiny school yard!