Pine Needles

They scootered through the neighborhood, Their helmets strapped on tight. On foot, we followed, making sure That they got home all right. We stopped beneath a pine tree, Touched the needles, soft and green, As I remembered years ago, A slightly different scene: My grandson in the stroller Where he reached out just to feel Those needles which held, even then, Such strong tactile appeal. The years fly by, each memory Tucked safely in its place, Just waiting to be summoned When I need its sweet embrace.