Sandbox
There used to be a sandbox
Where some plantings are in bloom.
The germaphobes today
Would never use it, I assume.
But years ago I plopped my son
With shovel, pail and truck
In that sand where he would dig
And I could read, with any luck.
The benches formed a semi-circle
So the moms would sit
And enjoy some peace and quiet,
Even if for just a bit.
Though the playground had a sandbox,
This one by the mayor’s manse
Had no slide or swing distractions –
Just the river’s smooth expanse.
I look fondly on those hours
When my child played in the sand,
Something mothers of today most likely
Wouldn’t understand.
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