Memory, Freshly Made Poem by Astral Shepherd

~
I let my mind
go-a-drifting, back
along a fence 's white pickets
made especially for sticks
to clack upon.
In the summer of fifty five,
nearly seven and oh so wise,
I watch the orange sun
dip into the yellow cornfield sea
turret high and tasseled tall
knowing the stately stars
would shortly follow
the dancing lights
soon to be flickering
whisper soft glows
in the palm of my hand;
lightning bugs that flutter off
into the waiting soft night;
off to join fellow brightlings.
And I, off to play tag
with a welcomed cool breeze
as we chase a leaf along
and up to the wooden screen,
the familiar creaking spring,
and my old front door.
Momma, waiting there,
“ Now you wash up before supper, ”
my grin big and wide,
at the memory freshly made.
~