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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Many years ago and many tears ago When bills were just something our parents worried about When first kisses were still yet to be experienced And summer days actually meant having a vacation Back in the days when our parents didn’t worry about where we were When we could leave the house before breakfast and come home again after the street lights came on Back in the days when pinky swears were as good as gold And cross your heart secrets were never told … We rode our bikes, lit our farts with Bic butanes, Went to swim team practices in the early morning mist And played tag in the woods behind the Richter’s barn And, in the way we played tag, our personalities and persona shone through Some ran through the woods timid and slow and were always first to be tagged Some were smart and cautious always aware of the best hiding places Always knowing who was “it” and who was to be avoided and to stay away from Some always followed others, hoping they could show them the way to avoid being tagged Some always were the leaders, showing the way and helping others not to get caught And then there was Doug Doug, the son of the family who held on to their land, house, barn and homestead One of the last remnants of an era passed An island of farming family values surrounded by the suburban landscape springing up around them in every direction The reason why there was still a patch of woods that we could run through playing tag Doug was fast, though perhaps not the fastest Doug was quick, though perhaps not the quickest Doug was cunning, though perhaps not the smartest But, what Doug was most often was … the last to be tagged Doug would run through those woods with reckless abandon There was not a sticker bush he would not run through to avoid being tagged There was not a tree he wouldn’t climb And then jump out of from the top To avoid being tagged The was not a ravine he wouldn’t jump A mud puddle he wouldn’t splash through A risk he wouldn’t take To avoid being tagged Many a boy, of which I counted myself often, was left holding his side in exhaustion Watching the back side of Doug making his get-away once again Doug was not one to hide He could easily be found Constantly on the move Just never to be caught And, that is the way I pictured Doug running through the woods of life Never hiding from trouble Never afraid to take risks Constantly on the move And, never being tagged
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