Days of Old Wonders

The empty swing now sits in dust
The broken chains have turned to rust
Stories of our childhood told
The magic of the young and bold
Charming bright smiles run around town
In search of adventure which cannot be found
The wildest of all imagination
Made by the hands of God’s creation
From the first bruise to the last sting
Wonderful memories forward to bring
Now young no more, I understand
But, how I wish to be a child again,
Laughing our heads off out in the snow
As Guardian Angels watched us bellow
Ninja chopping the waves of the Pacific ocean
Cart-wheels on the beach without any lotion
Playing with bugs and the famous snail race
Swinging on ropes like the pirates we chase
Climbing on trees and breaking bones
Splashing in water or skipping stones
Roller blade rides under the lights
King of the hill and snowball fights
Building sandcastles and men of snow
Telling stories with a puppet show
Constructing great snow forts and sledding outside
Down the icy white hills, the most wonderful ride
Dancing in the summer shower
Breathe in the air like smelling a flower
Wishing and dreaming upon a star
Impossible is nothing, a kid is who you are!
Dreams of being astronauts, flying to the moon
No longer a kid, but I’ll be coming back real soon.

July 6, 2011
3:35pm

 

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Author: © Алёна Комарова (Alëna S.)

Stories grow old and maybe they're true. You have a story as well as I do. Some may be simple and some may change lives. So why don't you look and see what you'll find. These are the stories inside my mind. Which may be realities of beauty and time. Some maybe stories of other lives. Mysteries painted, not all disguised. Please rate and enjoy my own little blog. Keep your dreams alive and don't forget to look. Honesty's good but don't be too hard of a critic. Say what you'd like 'cause I sure would love to hear it! E S T A B L I S H E D • 2 0 0 9

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