We Were Boys

Childhood memories, fields of spring, watching bumble bees at their work. Had a wiffle bat as did two younger brothers, now I feel like a jerk. Did a deal of bashing, the occasional batting, my jar ready for the reward. The mischief of youthful "must win" determination, or was it that we were bored? Nine bees in a jar, three are just stunned, man I was doing so well. One woke up, darn I was stung and now it was starting to swell. Nine bees in a jar, this time they're all dead, or at least they know how to play. Brian's got twelve, I'm slipping behind, and Mike's made a killing today. Mike got bored and quietly left the game, ha! His bees are all mine. Brian got stung, there goes his fun, returning to home for a time. Looking over fields down trampled and Lord if grandpa saw what we've done. Somehow I reckon he wouldn't be happy, but wow I must say that was fun. Jar full of bees, I'm all alone, man there goes all the joy. The things that we did, revisited by man, remembering when he was a boy.