My grass do not have brown spots anymore
Green grass is growing where they were before
Memories of my children playing yard games
Is all I have left but memories are not the same.

My son's birdhouse sits on a pole reaching for the sky
Each time I look up at it, it is hard not to cry
A dollhouse my daughter and I built still stands
Looking at it I visualize her happiness all over again.

I wish the clock could take me back in time
Back when my children's ages were eight and nine
If my grass had brown spots I would not care
Because my children's youth once again I could share.


Ralph L. Clark © 2001

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