The breeze is brisk yet filling
It compliments the sun that is soon crowded by clouds
Birds are singing a familiar song
One that reminds you of the time when you were a boy
A time where skinned knees and vampires were your only worries
When the spiders created in your mind haunted you in the shadows
But the comfort of your parents’ bed always calmed your spirits
To be bathed in innocence and only see the beauty in God’s world
An imagination so exuberant the most visionary of writers coveted it
You long to be writer too
And the weather is glorious
Too bad it looks like rain