Memory Lane

In the dry part of summer

That dirt road turned to golden silk

Ribbon running through corn-clover mead

Feeding freedom in its ethereal ilk

Of unnamed destinies pooled in its thread

Bare-feet dashed, splashing

Down lanes to wild apple trees

Where picnic-baskets spilled their simple fare

In gentle childhood memories

And soda-cracker flavored air

They didn’t recognize the wealth

Of moments pressed into its grass

Where cotton-dresses seemed to shrink too fast

Beneath a blue-sky hour-glass

Insistent on replenishing the Past

…and then they grew too tall

To play where only children climb

Time’s endless afternoons without a care

Until the call of suppertime

Wafted on twilight's purple stair

..as they dashed, splashed

Through golden silk of summer shelled

And moth-balled corduroy of outgrown coats

Quite unaware of pens they held

Or little legacies they wrote

© Janet Martin

This poem took me on a sudden breath-stealing trip down memory-lane