The Old School Field

The children still play in the old school field.
The trees stand in the same places,
Shed leaves in the same season,
Look bare in winter like before,
They’re just bigger than on that day
When you and I climbed so high
Hid in their branches
And were possessed by make believe.
I was happy then.

The crime was that I did not know
That one day I would be warmed
By these memories, as the children play.
Had I known I would have not grown up
Or at least delayed the coming day.
Many more hours would have been lost
High in those branches
As we sucked out every drop of joy
Against a life yet to come

Should I try now to tell
Those children that repeat the act
More daring maybe as they ascend
To higher realms, to greater dreams,
That this may be the best day of their lives.
And will they believe me?
Each filled with lofty dreams
Having climbed so high,
I really think not.

How strange that they long to go forward
And you and I would go back
To days of innocence and charm
Is hindsight such a wonderful thing?
Or is it sent to punish us
To fill us with regret?
Sometimes life seems such a cruel thing
Our gradual ascent from innocence
From the school field until this day.

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