Get Rid Of The Advertisements

The path has been long, from the days of my youth,
When my pants cuff got in the sprocket;
Of an old Schwinn bike with no chain guard,
When I carried a frog in my pocket.

Back then a tree limb made a fine fishing pole,
While cotton string served as the line;
A bent safety pin was the fishhook,
And the whole doggone world was mine.

I still recall just when my freckles dissolved,
When bare feet became pampered by shoes;
(Old battle-worn calluses, tempered by thorns,
Are just friends that a boy has to lose).

My very first rifle, a fine twenty-two,
At Christmastime, given to me;
By grandpa, when I was just 6 years of age,
The year… nineteen-forty and three.

Those winters of youth seemed a lifetime,
Of chopping up wood for the fire;
Creek water was packed with a bucket,
As snows just got higher and higher.

School was held in an old four room house,
Two grades in each room was the plan;
Not many children, and as I recall,
We were mostly all of one clan.

Growing up rural was a gift from above,
Through the course of all of my days;
I’ve never forgotten those formative times,
Or the joy of a country boy’s ways.

Now frowned at by a nation gone urban,
We were raised on “the code of the west”;
Respecting our elders, respecting ourselves,
And giving this old world our best.

There’s little the same as it was way back when,
All aspects of youth are perverted;
I suspect that only those people my age,
Believe that its time we reverted.

We cannot return to when dinosaurs roamed,
When we hunted, and fished, and we trapped;
Long before God was impeached, and before,
This “new world” was laid out and mapped.

I shall never forget those days as a child,
When I knew every hill, every cave;
When I hiked in the mountains, scared plumb-to-death,
Yet puffed up and acting so brave.

Old days and old times will live on, until we,
Pack up all our memories and go;
To some place far away, where we won’t have to see,
The destruction that goes on below.

We can't see the future, perhaps that is good,
But we always can see in our past;
Let your memories bring light to your days, my friend,
May good memories forever last!

By Metaphor

© 2019 Metaphor (All rights reserved)


Read more poems by  Metaphor
Send this poem to a friend
Read 3 viewers comment(s)

The Starlite Cafe Discussion Board | Home

Back to Previous Page