Sitting outside her house on a sunday morning ,
Cold breeze grazing through her wrinkled face,
She looks at the children playing in the yard across her side ,
Enjoying her beautiful coffee in the morning sunlight.
She remembers the time when she was them ,
Playing in the mud,dust and rain,
Until her body showed no signs,
Of energy,
Going out shopping with friends,
Roaming till the night ends ,
With the ones she loved.
Commentary in the last bench ,
Were one of the best memories she had she tells,
Laughing at all she remembers those days ,
Where she was young, and wild and free in every way.
Staying over at her friends,
Late night horror stories ,truth and dare
Some things to remember and cherish ,
"Oh how silly we all were" she says
All those days when her horrible dancing and singing drunk ,
Gave the others their final finish,
For wonderful photos and videos,
To be published on the beautiful day she was born .
Now her life has responsibilities,
Loved ones to look after,
She has to worry about their glee,
She stares at those children again and wonders ,
When did I ever stop being young , wild and free.
She puts her cup aside and runs over to the yard ,
The young side of her's bringing those disarrayed joy together ,
In her nostalgic heart.
