Another harvest

And still more work

The promises of youth

A thing of the past

The summers of carelessness

running wild

days spent out of doors

Falling towards home

When the dinner whistle came

All of us answering

Like eager puppies

After digging through mud

And wading after crawdaddies

With no thought of danger

There was no warning

That those days would come to a full stop

Abruptly

With hours suddenly spent

In sterile air conditioning

Dutifully typing data

Our notion of freedom

A childish thing

Set aside

For the race for more – Caroline A. Slee