Times, They Are A-Changin' Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The sun hangs low, the air is still,
No children's shouts upon the hill.
A quiet street, a lonely swing,
A missing sound, the joy they bring.

Remember days, long, golden, free,
A childhood spent 'neath shady trees.
With feathered bands and sticks for bows,
We played out tales the wild wind knows.

Cowboys brave and Indians bold,
Our stories in the fields unfolded.
No screens to watch, no buttons pressed,
Just open sky and sun-kissed breasts.

Then taller grown, with bolder hearts,
We rode bareback, in separate parts,
Workhorses 'borrowed, ' wild and grand,
Imagined heroes, across the land.

Now fingers tap on glass so bright,
A different world, consumed by light.
Digital wars and pixelated pain,
A fantasy, not quite the same.

The world has changed, a whispered sigh,
As childhood dreams just drift on by.

T.M.Solvang