| In a small thicket several children played. They danced about in the cloud they had made. Up to their knees the soft fluff ascended, Fuzzy white whispers from cattails they�d tended. Four children stood tall and faked being eagles. They danced and they twirled and they acted quite regal. Their clothes now were spoiled, which upset their mothers, But they stuck together like sister and brothers. For hours unending and days much the same, They would go to their cloud and they�d start up this game. And never they thought that this place they might leave. If someone had told them, they�d never believe. But soon the days shortened as years so increased And these children grew older and cloudy games ceased. They were young men and woman with jobs and vacations And seldom had time to enjoy their relations. But once every summer, these four old young tikes Return to the place where their memory hikes. The cloud is now gone and cattails grow wild But each one still sees as when he was a child. |
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| The picture is actually of me, my cousins Sinclair, and Andre, and my brother, Jason. I was probably about six at the time. Ahhh to be young again..... |