Mud Pies And Crawdads Poem by Randall Vanlandingham

Mud pies and crawdads on slow summer Sundays,
Wading, while wishing for time to stand still,
Sisters and brothers and friends, the real neighbors,
Eating the honeysuckle drops in those buds,
Following flight-paths of honeybees through clover,
Yelling through tunnels beneath black-top roads.

These are the ways we remember our childhood,
Bringing up memories that help us to freshen
Stale and old habits, like concrete, they've stiffened,
Stifled our progress, discovery, and song.
Instructions escape us to capture new moments:
Add water, dirt pancakes and little bare toes.