Days In The Wild Poem by Hannington Mumo

A feeling akin to Utopian nostalgia
Does creep into my reminiscing mind;
What wonderful days my brother and I
Spent in the wild years now thrust so far behind
By the ever-turning wheel of time.

Those were years of bountiful plenty
When rains fell without fail
And the mouths of the old ever told a tale;
Not like now when the young herd no more,
And the old have lost their precious lore.

Those were times of ages prime
When all we did was to herd goats in the wild,
Never knew I that I would pen this beautiful rhyme,
Nor leave the enchanting lure of the bewitching wild.

Those were the happy days when dad still lived
And so much in Jesus believed,
That before for fields we left in the morning
He’d lead us in a hymn and prayer,
And to us he’d read the Bible in evening.

Those were days when hares were plenty
And dogs knew how to hunt;
We’d rummage through shrubs with catapults
Knowing that a feast was certainly at hand.

I miss the days we spent in the wild;
The morning hymns sung by dad
Ring an eerie melody in my mind:
What a mellow bass he had!