Just the way it is.

Magnolia, Crepe Myrtle and Oleander,
Flowers of the South; just the sound of their names makes my mind wander…
To evenings filled with freeze tag and children’s laughter.
The grass smells of watermelon, fresh cut or soon after.
Picturing lightening bugs hiding from young hands and jars,
Getting called to Supper as the dusk succumbed to stars.
Fried green tomatoes with white rice, redeye gravy then to ender,
Mom’s Cowboy pie which was always a winner,
Why can some memories come so thick it seems that you could cut ‘em?
Then others elude me like words to a forgotten old hymn…
Hidden deep seemingly lost forever just out of touch,
Remembering, remembering I have forgotten so much.
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