Remember the playful days of youth when the sun
shone down on green fields.
When you’d run so fast
that the wind would blow in your hair.
The joy of rolling down a grassy hill
or skipping a stone across the creek.
The quest for a four-leaf clover in a field of blue grass.
The freedom of not knowing the price
of the snow cones and pink popcorn
that mother bought from the snack shack.
That snack shack, right there.
Right there behind that decaying wall,
on that concrete slab behind the chain link fence
Wonder when they tore it out?
The new boathouse is looking old
on this cloudy morning.
The sign says we can’t feed the ducks.
Mother use to bring a bag of bread crusts.
Remember how fast they’d gather at the promise of that bag?
Guess the sun won’t be joining us this morning.
Yes, we should go back, before bodies fail
and hearts move too far into the past.
Till next week,