I miss the old days,
by Joyce Marie Hayes
I miss the gentle ways,
I miss the county fairs. I miss the old folks,
I miss my brother's jokes,
I miss concerts in the park. I miss the quiet talks,
I miss the sunday walks,
I miss the forest paths. We had not much in material ways,
No malls, T.V. or electronic rays.
No atom bombs, jets or star wars threats,
But we had what I'd never trade. A church bells melodic chime,
Full blooming trees to climb.
Deep fern covered woods to roam,
A wondrous, moving Kipling poem. Country fairs and skating rinks,
Porch swings with rusty creaks.
Tandem rides through the park,
Hand held walks in the dark. No Fear