One Childhood Poem by Robert Sheridan

The pure essence of it was play
My friends and I did it endlessly
On the streets and in the forest
Could see what was going on -
despite the trees.

When playing together, we did
not act in jest or sport, nor did
we behave carelessly, despite
the occasional skinned knee,
'Mom, I'm bleeding again! '

We did have one rule, 'Minors
only were allowed to play! '
And after a hard day's playing,
We seem to have more energy
Had a hard time falling asleep.

Memories of sandlot baseball
And photos taken by my dad
Still hold on tight in my head
But not so tight as to prevent
Them from being remembered.


'2008'