now summer days evoke the trance-like past
where children played in joyous, daisied fields
with buttercups so bright the memory lasts
a freedom that our conscious growth will steal.
those stones and leaves and many colored flowers
were gathered into images that glow
yet later we forgot those treasured hours
when for a while we lived within life’s flow
we did not look and see, but felt at one
we lived as did the birds high in the trees
now we see and write , experience almost gone–
refuse to live like flowers content, at ease
to lose ourselves in nature is such joy
this to our adult selves we must restore
