Thrilling Days of Yesteryear

Southern raised in the fifties and sixties, brought up very strictly and correctly, prim and proper not gypsies or hippies, a time children should be seen perfectly, and not heard, standing tall an erectness, the thought of free expression tides were hurled, ideals "political correctness, free exchange of ideas, not in my world. Shadows shout on curtains of doubt, hear it choking out the ally nonchalant sun, novel days search for a free flow spirit. An old soul I am, not the young bright son consciously crossover mentally numb. Where I am is on the edge I expect of time and future ledge we have become stupidly politically correct. 9/29/217