By Gone Days Poem by Joseph T. Renaldi

My life is like a storybook,
Holding neither grudges or hate,
Yearning for the golden, glory days
While strolling towards the open gate.

The climbing roses had grown taller,
And seemed to recapture its charm.
The Marigolds and Begonias were unfortunate,
Overcome by creeping vines in a path of harm.

I stopped to lean against the rail fence
To watch the brilliant sunset rays,
My thoughts wandered to previous years
And all the dreams of by gone days.

I could see fields of waving buckwheat
And a broad expanse of golden grain.
I could hear the repetitive pitter-patter
Of the warm and gentle summer rain.

I strolled along a narrow path in the woods
To the bank of a stream I did sincerely miss,
Beneath an oak tree's spreading branches
Where I used to sit quietly to dream and fish.

I missed the fragrance of the honeysuckle,
The aroma of the newly mowed hay,
The scent of the wildflowers along the stream,
All mingled together to create a pleasant day.

As the twilight shadows deepened,
I uttered a simple, thankful prayer
For all the joys, thrills, and happiness
That I was always willing to share.