Summer of our Youth
When we were young
we picked our wayalong pebbled paths
and tall, early summer grass,
still green and soft from Spring.
On days when the creek swelled
and tadpoles swarmed,
slipping through our fingers,
we waded onto smooth stones,
slick with growing things,
thick with life that squished
through the spaces between
our sun browned toes.
We felt alive and brilliant;
we felt free and unafraid
and the adults were far behind
around the bend, out of sight -
forgotten, and we,
explorers of the great unknown.
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