As I walk along the water front,
in my own little world...

I would sometimes count the footprints,
and then I'd turn with a quick swirl...

Picking up colored glass,
for mom to put in her plants...

and somtimes I'd find a perfect shell,
that wasn't covered with ants...

Dead fish, here and there,
they washed up on the shore...

You'd think you saw the last one,
and ooops there would be many more...

On my way back, in the field I would go,
to pick mom some flowers, for that's where they grow...

Summers at the cottege, when I was very young,
I had to use my imagination for making my fun...