Mary Jane Miller
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Old Friend, In Our Younger Days
Old friend, in our younger days we could
Race down this path, through these woods
Heels flung high, muscles astrain
To the redbud tree and back again.
We'd run even through the misty rain,
Through sputtering snow, wind tossed,
Through autumn leaves crisp with frost.
And then we'd sit upon the log to rest
Where the wild rabbit had her nest.
And then, not on any given day,
We just did not care to race,
But ambled along at a leisurely pace.
Paused to listen to the cat birds song,
The scolding of the blue jays
And watched the feisty squirrels...