Sunday, March 18, 2012


‘Twas in the days
when every summer was a year
and every spring a state of grace
and we had no way of knowing
the wheels sped up
while we were slowing
summer child, run free and wild
On a windswept hill
I see your smile.


  1. I love this poem. It takes me back to my childhood in a wonderful way. :-)

  2. Marlita, know that feeling. And every Spring is a state of grace for sure.