Wild, curly haired kids still chase candy-colored rocks
Across old sea floors, dotted with dandelions,
And the long yawn of summer gone stale,
All gathered up, into a lone rusty pail.
After swings in trees,
and secret swimming holes,
down long, easy roads,
Soothed in watermelon dreams,
While holding hands, with our heads in circles, catching the sky.
Her eyes, sparkling stars of night and oceans blue,
Whisper ice cream cones and a first kiss, too.
Now, sun in smoke, searing
That long dusty road of angst and dearth
All dried and sharp,
Our once cherished mirth.
Bring us giddy hopes of weather and water,
and grand tales on the coming of storms,
Let times soon turn, and days delite
Those same stories,
Sparkling in that honey-colored light.