Long Ago Summers
Why do the summers of my youth,
In memory seem unending?
The days were warm, lovely and long.
No sorrows needed mending.
The world created just for me,
I reveled in its pleasure,
As contented as a child could be.
Each day a special treasure
In that life I used to know
In those days of long ago.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2012
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