Henry Caville 111
Newbie
The dusty tire swings are silent now,
The secret forts have vanished in the trees.
A heavy crown sits on a grown-up brow,
That once chased fireflies on a summer breeze.
I miss the days when hours stretched out so long,
And scraped-up knees were all there was to mend.
Now echoes of a half-forgotten song
Are all that's left of summers without end.
The secret forts have vanished in the trees.
A heavy crown sits on a grown-up brow,
That once chased fireflies on a summer breeze.
I miss the days when hours stretched out so long,
And scraped-up knees were all there was to mend.
Now echoes of a half-forgotten song
Are all that's left of summers without end.