Would that the footsteps I take
be across shade, out of view of the sun.
For now I watch where once I played.
In the time of youth, the parched grass
seemed beautiful, a tumble with noon promise.
A game with friends who brought lemonade,
connection of neighbours and their mothers.
In view of all things that pass,
still the grass is short, but now I cut it myself,
afterwards to rest in the backyard memories;
slumber in the shade and wonder how I got here.
