The sweetness of the warm and friendly air
Was met by faces swinging in the sun.
While eating apples, wind that rustles hair
Brings sounds of childish voices, sounds of fun.

We lay in silence, watching streaks of stars
Which seemed to fade with passing years just as
The sparks of children's eyes. `Tis sad time marrs
One's early memories - the best one has.

I too remember how in blowing trees
I read contently, rocking back and forth.
Though out of sight I stared at all with breeze
And sun and tides of leave; a treetop surf.

With all of these soft memories of trees
And seas and gentle breeze, I rest in ease.

By Seth Kintigh