The golden fields of childhood Lined with verdant forests Providing a soft boundary Ripe for exploration In my later years I went searching For those fertile play grounds To find them desolate Surrounded by harsh concrete walls Constraining the meager life In rigid walls Digging hands now calloused Into the dusty dirt Wrapping my fingers around a stone Pulling it to the surface It is rough and tough Like the earth that bore it The earth that was here before These walls went up With a single stroke I strike it against the border Seeking to open up The pastures of youth
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Musing & Creating with T.J.S. Sherman 