The memories are suspect, they change with time,
But they’re all there, and they’re all mine.
The fields of hay surround the house,
A garter snake, a small field mouse.
The summer days of pitch and catch,
With sun beating down on my blond thatch.
Explore the garden, catch some bugs,
Into the web for spider hugs.
The bike for Christmas was such a prize,
Expanding horizons for curious eyes.
Chores assigned and pushed away,
Can’t I do them another day?
No, he said, go pull some weeds,
The garden meets our family’s needs.
So work the hoe, and water the plants,
Before you torture those sidewalk ants.
The simple pleasures of innocent youth,
Are still not spoiled by harsher truths.
Those days seemed longer in yesteryear,
That now fly past and seem so dear.
We can’t return to simpler times,
We can recall with easy rhymes,
Those summer days as a small boy,
When every day was filled with joy.