Warm sunbeams,
Bouncing through the trees,
Shimmering on the creek,
Daydreaming.
Long grass leaf in your mouth.
Barefoot.
Beaten dirt road.
Scraped arms,
Legs,
Feet,
From climbing trees,
And running through the fields,
Chasing the moon,
Picking flowers,
By the ocean,
The color of your eyes.
That curl was always around your ear.

Through the orchid trees,
Past the fence
horses run friskily,
the country style
wrap around porch,
where honeysuckles grow,
the wild bees swarm,
And butterflies rest.

The grass is so high...
High enough,
You can have your hands to your side,
And feel them tickle your fingers.

That old tire swing was always
The best place to watch the sun set,
As the sky turned orange,
And the clouds turned to
cotton candy.

But the roof,
Was the best place
to count the stars.

Those fireflies only shine
For a moment,
In that clearing
By the creek.

And those crickets,
Only play their best,
under the moonbeams.



 
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