When I Think Of Summer

                                                  When I think of summer
                                                  it comes to mind so clear
                                                  my childhood summers from yesterday
                                                  oh how I loved them dear

                                                  When school days were at end
                                                  and the ringing of the last bell
                                                  my feet hit the ground running
                                                  down every road and trail

                                                  Riding an old, rusted bicycle
                                                  over the hills I did leap
                                                  building a playhouse in the woods
                                                  or playing in the cold, icy creek

                                                  Picking blackberries in early morning
                                                  more chigger scratching to do
                                                  wading through big mud puddles
                                                  oh that dreadful toe itch too

                                                  Playing outside after dark
                                                  catching lightning bugs in a jar
                                                  lying on a blanket covered ground
                                                  gazing at the sky, counting every star

                                                  Playing ball on a Sunday afternoon
                                                  in a big meadow, tall and green
                                                  rolling down the hills in the tall grass
                                                  the most fun I've ever seen

                                                  Eating high on the hog
                                                  until the gardens were through
                                                  helping mama with the canning
                                                  with anticipation of winter too

                                                  My list could go on and on
                                                  so many reminders and so real
                                                  some things never do change
                                                  like the sound of a whopper will

                                                  Free as a bird in the wind
                                                  with so many things to do
                                                  those wonderful, childhood summers
                                                  were the best I ever knew

                                                  Susie Swanson, 2012