December 23rd 1998

Crispy leaves
crunching underfoot
as you trod along
under a canopy of trees
smelling the clean air scent
and listening to the conversation
of a brook and the shore

Trunks of trees
leading to underground forts
where the children play
and imagine that their
make believe story
is real
and it’s only a sunset away

A small path
dusty and forgotten
where we used to chase the deer
and look for arrowheads
and geodes
such unfinished dreams
are the ones
I will never forget

RyanDavid Burningham