Echoing quietly in the background of an old man’s life, the music box plays on.
Back to the swaying pine trees with their fresh needles blanketing the ground,
In the summer days of sweltering heat and carefree nights of doing no great things,
When just the thought of heading to the water would bring refreshment untold.
Sitting here now, older but I’m not so sure wiser, the seasons continue.
Memories buried under new ones, which themselves are overwhelmed with the nonsense of day-to-day,
What ever happened to the spirit of adventure?
The children sit in their comfortable chairs, bored with their technology and longing for something they’ve never known.
Soft pine needles breaking beneath their feet mean nothing as a warm summer breeze drifts along,
but somewhere in their minds remains a place they haven’t yet been.
Catching the scent of dirty lake water on the wind, the youngest knows there’s something they’ve forgotten.
The world may change, and we along with it,
but parts of both will endure.
Whether we can or cannot remember, or even if we never came to know it,
We shall never lose the spirit of adventure.
This I remember, as echoing quietly in the background of my last days, the music box plays on.