May Day
Oh, the memories of yesteryears
Many were filled with happy tears
Unaccompanied by painful fears
Laughter and chatter filled our ears
Time must not be allowed to steal
Those sacred times that also heal
Those years spent with childhood peers
Like a May Day plaiting of the Maypole
Such thoughts of yesteryears never grow old
Although growing old with hairs turning gray,
I am warmed and embraced this quiet morning,
as I think about the upcoming first of May.
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