The Stream

Day in and day out,

we’d meet at that stream.

On those long summer days,

or so they would seem.

There was Johnny and Sam,

and Billie and Eddie.

Jack and young Mike,

and I can’t forget Freddie.

We’d talk about baseball,

weren’t the Dodgers the best?

And superman vs batman,

now there’s the true test.

And when it got hot,

we’d strip off our jeans.

We’d swing from that tire,

I remember the screams.

Well into our teens,

that stream was our spot.

Till we finally stopped coming,

I guess we forgot.

Today I’ve come back,

to the banks of our stream.

Those long summer days,

are now just a dream.

I’m the last one still standing,

the “guys” are all gone.

Freddie died of cancer,

and Mike in Vietnam.

Some from bad tickers,

like Jack and young Mike.

Then there was Johnny,

side swiped on his bike.

I’ll say my goodbyes,

to my buddies, “the team.”

Time stops for no one,

like the water in our stream.

--Ken Ferguson--

Artista di Parole