As children we
sat and played
among the
branches and the sticks
and the grass,
so green and sharp,
between our
fingertips.
From sunrise
to sunset
beside the
bubbling brook,
we children
found treasures
where only
children eyes would look.
The old stump
log, now hollowed out,
the scary
neighbors yard,
the fence that
guarded the cow pasture
that told us
we’ve gone too far.
The secret
pacts we made
to swear our
friendship for all time,
like grass
into the earth,
our roots
can’t come undone.
But summer warmth
lasts
only til
August comes and goes
and so with
falling leaves
our age and
height both grow.
New
beginnings, some farewells
as grass turns
cold and brown,
realizing our
childhood
has almost
come and gone.
Now far from the
barefoot fields
our tiny feet
once roamed,
we search of
what it qualifies
to build a
happy home.
But once we
have all we ever
dreamed to be
complete,
we forget how
to
appreciate the
little things.
The sound of
rushing water
against rocks
runs dry
and the
fireflies we caught
have all dimmed
their lights.
Time to return
to the fields
we once had
known.
Let us pack our
bags
and make the journey
home.
