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Good Ole Days?
Bright sunlight tumbles from the crystal blue,
while contemplation plows my fertile mind.
The moon comes early, making its debut.
Dark night will settle, leaving day behind.
These sights implore my consciousness to think,
since days can see their joy sometimes abate.
Such times like these can be a tasteless drink.
As darkness falls, I tensely sit and wait.
Such times have come and gone in rapid fire.
My strained heart wants to know my life is good.
I strive to see the joy through muck and mire,
Remembering the fun of my boyhood.
I’ve heard it all my life in diverse ways.
Are these the times we’ll call the Good Ole Days?
Copyright ©
Robert Zimmerman
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