Library of Congress
Days of summer,
thoughts from the past,
sometimes bittersweet,
but we still want them to last.
A picnic near the lake,
ice cooler sandwiches made,
the very best memories,
will never ever fade.
I ride to the mountains,
wading in the ice-cold brook,
the old photographs,
ones your parents took.
There was a time,
when the clock ran slow,
with the innocence of youth,
we now only know.
Each year in the past,
now passing perhaps a little too fast,
days of summer,
thoughts from the past.
