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.