A kid can flee so easily
running out through the open door.
They’ll climb a tree and find a world
so different than before.
Some dig a hole and pile up snow
to make themselves a fort
Or take their leave across the fields,
a different kind of sport.
Crawling through the hayfields,
picking berries in the grass,
celebrating little streams,
watching them flow past.
Cats and dogs and little frogs,
birds and squirrels and ponies.
Draped in mirth and soiled with dirt
the earth is not so lonely
Stepping through the stony fields,
hoping that first kiss will last,
playing through the summer glow,
the days flow by, it starts to snow/
Suddenly a memory grows.
It grows into a dream gone by.
Moving on into the haze,
entranced, we fail to count the days.
It’s just a game we have to play.
The rhythm of the years descend.
Pretending all the dreams are real
we pass our time spinning on a wheel.
Then at last, in the light of day,
we look around and feel the sound
of trumpets blaring in our ears,
gently teasing all our fears.
We deny the facts but that won’t last.
We’re stemming tears we’ve gathered here,
passing time inside our minds,
believing things we cannot find.
So clouds drift by, time ticks away.
The games we played are getting older.
From little kids just playing soldier
the world now sits upon our shoulders.