Days of Old

I remember the days of old,
when I crossed the fields alone.
When I ran the forests;
when I ran the trails,
in those days of youth,
in those days of sun.

I remember the color of life.
Everything seemed different.
There was a brightness to the light;
a shine, to everything.

I remember hopping those fences.
Going to those hidden places,
to see what I could see.
Those ...

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