On Childhood Memories

Rambling in the woods,
catching tadpoles in the pond,
my brother and I share
those memories so fond.

Playing cowboys and indians
with little plastic men,
we'd lay out forts and villages.
That's how our imagination began.

Up in the hayloft
we'd sit and play for hours.
Waiting out patiently
those long April showers.

Then we'd go down the road
and look in the ditches,
For little green frogs to catch,
until Mom came after us with switches.

Covered with bright red Georgia mud
we'd gleefully "head for the hills,"
Carrying our little frogs.
It gave us such a thrill!

Knowing that the chase was on
and we could outrun her easily,
we'd give up, she'd scoop us up,
then into the bathtub for me.

Eddie played with the frogs
out in an old tin tub.
I was all  covered in soap
while mama  insisted I scrub.

Instead I'd shampoo my dolly's hair
and treat her with such care,
While mama presented fresh clothing
and such for me to wear

Then fresh and clean
we'd start out a new,
with dozens of things
to explore, and to do.

Old buzzards out in the cow pasture
feasting on a cow,
never failed to terrify me
but fascinated me somehow.

We'd hide and watch them quietly
devouring their disgusting meal.
They hardly ever looked up,
continuing with zeal.

Playing with Dolly the old circus horse
who could bow, answer questions with a nod or a shake,
and kneeling down, for us to clamber on
a bareback ride we'd take.

When she tired she'd kneel down,
then we'd give her a treat.
Pat her on the neck and then
she'd fondly speak,

whinnying with such content
as if she were  trying to say,
I can't wait for you to come back
another day to play.

Then home we'd run as fast as we could
for the sun was going down.
Our Daddy would soon be home,
returning from work in town.

We'd run out to meet him
with a hug and a kiss,
completing this  fond memory
of childhood and of bliss