It was it's own special season,
Of rainbows, of hearts of light,
Feathers of white gold, arrows,
It was a time of imagination,
Of freckles and of frolicking,
In the midst of fields of poppys,
Here I stood with but one with
Your name on it, in essence
Now I hold on to it for dear life,
Into the dark night I am now
Cloaked, so no one can hear
My cries, calling for you or anyone
From that time, that special time,
Of pine and sage brush, of birthdays,
Of life and of love, our time-of lunch pails,
This time when we all used to laugh
And run in the fields, ours was the sun,
The moon and the grass, ours was the
Flute, the painted face, bon-fires, walking the
Forest path, our time is no longer
That time.

Life is short-it's been 26 years-more like
Eternity.