..the mud sticks well in my toes, i remember...
the field where we once play
lay asleep under the sun
the green grass that cuts our toes
turns golden, wilting in lush
how the wound that it left
has now turned to fading scars
a remembrance of childhood and first love
bittersweet, indeed
those times, they shall remain
the green field melting in mud during storms
has now turned to dust
sweeped by the boastful wind
leaving not a single footprint.
but the footprint that it left in the hearts
shall remain till the last leaf fall...
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