Oh! Childhood days, so bright and fair,
When thought did flit without a care,
Every heart I loved , just as my own,
Long before any ill was known.
Spent so reckless, so did enthrall,
Innocence, ignorance, defeated all.
When the spirit knew no atmosphere,
No fence, no range; and conscience clear.
Fulfilled alone by effort spent,
And outcome was it's own content.
Unaware that time would slow the pace,
Of the hastened soul to present place.
Or that the path of life, and circumstance,
Would steal away the certain chance.
But sometimes, when the rush is done,
And nature and I - we sit as one,
Memory, on haunches, will return,
Of passion's youth for which I yearn.
Whether wind, a glimpse, or forgotten scent,
I feel again the stir of days that went.