by David G. Thorne
What happened to the endless summers,
of playing hard and running through the wood?
The dappled sun on mossy banks,
and cooling shade of fern.
Where you’d be my Marion, and I…
I’d be Robin i’ the Hood!
We had no need for merry men,
just played each one in turn.
Those long forgotten days of summer,
of joy and laughter, and galloping through the dust,
to capture the picnic table Alamo,
we’d ride on bronco steeds of air.
We’d fight and die and spoil our clothes,
Oh how our mothers fussed!
They never could quite understand,
That we redskins didn’t care.
Such long, hot days of endless summer,
of Barbary pirates on the log pile,
with jacaranda1 pods for gleaming swords,
we’d brave the Spanish Maine.
You grazed your knee and cried and…
You said I was an imbecile!
That’s the trouble playing with girls I said,
The captain always gets the blame.
1 Jacaranda is a flowering tree native to tropical and subtropical regions. Some species produce a long, flat woody seed pod, reminiscent in size and shape to machete or kukri knife.