I still remember
third grade.
When poetry was made
of rhymes...
Oh, the good times.
We were taught the sun
was a happy thing
and we would sit on a swing
smiling at its wonder,
unable to wait for summer.
And I know while
the sun's wonder
does indeed bring summer,
it also gives way to thunder
and rain.
Now that I'm older
poems have grown colder
and I know sorrows
are not conveyed
in rhymes.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 6:35 PM UTC
I still remember
third grade.
When poetry was made
of rhymes...
Oh, the good times.
We were taught the sun
was a happy thing
and we would sit on a swing
smiling at its wonder,
unable to wait for summer.
And I know while
the sun's wonder
does indeed bring summer,
it also gives way to thunder
and rain.
Now that I'm older
poems have grown colder
and I know sorrows
are not conveyed
in rhymes.
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