Memories of a Tin Roof
A poem for days gone by
Days without care,
running with cousins,
swinging that long arc,
a knotty rope tied off high.
The sounds that ‘ole roof made,
the brush of a limb across the tin,
the raindrops, loud and rumbling
while we waited inside.
I’ll not forget the minty smell,
the vegetation that grew,
a rocky hillside by the road,
a tunnel of trees that led you there.
The creak in the floors,
you knew you were there.
Aged wood on the porch,
we’d sit and whittle for a while.
And then to the pond,
bobbers float, a tap, a tug.
Fat bluegill, a bent cane pole,
another worm, let’s catch some more.
Time to leave? No, let’s stay awhile.
It’s long gone now, but I can hear the sounds
I can see us running, chasing each other.
I’d like to cross, this seam in time,
go back out there, and just stay forever.
