Children's lilting voices fill the air
on a summer evening, outside at their play.
Happy and thriving with nary a care.
I remember when life used to be that way.
If only our childhood would, a little longer, stay.
Sounds of their laughter bring a smile to my face
and memories of my own flood my being.
My childhood is past , there's no longer a trace
but in my mind a much younger me I'm seeing,
in a time that was all too quickly fleeing.
Children's litling voices fill the air.
A joyous sound on this warm summer eve.
Running, climbing and playing games of dare,
the same games I once played, I believe.
Tonight I'll quietly watch 'til they take their leave.
'Morn sky, Spring love, Summer dreams,
Winter chill. Listen to cloud cover.
Fall deeper into fallen leaves, raked
By slumbering winds. Fields of white
Cotton picked in summer sun by *****
Slaves - peaches by the migrant hands.
Dixieland band plays on for workers.
Sing along, soulful music. Mexicans
Have a more upbeat style. Jazz in
New Orleans in the Spring. Ah, peace.
All seasons man works to the beat,
Heat of the sun and wind. Then rainfall.
Call to the morning sky. Ask why not?
It's got to be time for planting and
Panting up a sweat. No regret I forgot
To mention again sweet summer dreams.
The gates of childhood open
to eternal width.
And memories are still alive.
A summer sky protects you,
with its easy winds.
Far away hills,
white flowers in a sea of sunshine,
your smile not hidden behind shaky roofs.
Sunrays of love,
deeply engraved in you,
a happy child.
Through the open window
an new day is rising.
Between white sheets of early snow,
blue fragments yet remain
of flowers you once picked
from summer fields,
still vivid
even after all that bygone days.
And all your early memories
are so alive
as if no years had passed.
And sometimes in your dreams
you see a little boy
grasping at flowers
and at summer fruits
and at all that other signs of happyness.
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