I can hear the horses snorting, outside my bedroom window,

Even though it comes, from so many years ago;

Cotton from the cottonwoods flying through the air,

Making whitened dapples on my palomino mare;

The hounds are all out baying, it must be dinner time;

In my tiny little neighborhood, I was never scared of crime;

Family surrounded me, aunts and uncles all around,

It was quiet on our little street, no sirens made a sound;

My cousins and I would play outlaws, and we’d hide out for a day;

Making mighty forts from the fifty tons of hay;

It never really changed much, as I grew up through the years,

And remembering that it’s gone, always brings me close to tears.