To E.C (born 1890) (died 1957)
Childhood days are so easily spent
Like nickels in Nineteen Fifty-Seven.
They go by like so many stray dogs
And the lessons learned are tucked away
Securely in dirty pockets with string, buttons and
Conversation worthy treasures.
The summer yields to fall.
An old man yields to time.
A young boy clings to dreams of Grandpa
And memories of fishing worms and grasshopper spit.