it's a Saturday morning,
and I am ten years old again,
and the only thing that we had to worry about,
was what we were going to do with ourselves,
to help pass the time
now that I think about those summer days,
when we were twelve,
trying to fill our days,
with dreams and adventure.
never believing that it would end the way that it did,
all to soon.
all these years later,
I still wonder about what was,
and what could have been.
what is left of you,
is a little more then a ox of dried twigs,
but you have all of the answers now,
and for that I am envious.