By Steven Cain
for more information www.StevenACain.com
He remembers gray days
When rain plopped in the water.
Those days gave the
Young at heart time to think;
Not like sunny days
With swimming, pitchin’ shoes
And basketball.
He remembers wanting
To build a house across
The pond from his Mom’s and Dad’s
The place was bigger then
To smaller eyes.
He went back there once when
They were gone.
It was gray then, too.
He was grabbing for nostalgia,
Had always thought, before,
That the pond had changed.
The banks had slid a little.
Wild brush flourished
Around the edges.
A cottonwood stood tall
Where the little boy once threw
Rocks in the water.
But now he remembers how the
Little boy changed. And even
Tho’ he sees with the same eyes
Scenes that reflect in his mind,
He doesn’t want the same.
He says, “It’s O.K. to wonder
How the family will grow,
But where did the little boy go?
Everyone gets older, many marry
And some never return.
But where did the boy from that
Country pond learn to
Challenge so?
The pond taught him
To breathe deep and swim hard.
The farm taught him
To do what needed to be done.
But it was people who
Taught him what he
Sometimes didn’t want to know.
But with a tear of joy and
A rush of pride he thanked the
Pond for its gray days.
It taught him to turn forward
And not to worry about not
Being that little boy.
