Rose-Tinted Days
Ah! For the sweet rose-tinted days
of endless spiraling time
when we bannister slid our way
to curving morning,
climbed through the rails
of adult strictures
out to own
our
unmapped course.
Allowed mere whim and fancy rein
to take us galloping where it would.
Chance ruled our day --
a horseshoe found for fishing luck
from each springing hour,
or daisy chained to minute's
fickle ways,
a swing on branch, a fall, lost shoe,
direction changing clouds
chased out of view.
We shooed our way
through strewn meadows;
daytime moths danced on
our wrists.
The way home
was forgotten.
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