Memories

Quietly riding back to the old sawmill
Whishing I could go back.
Smiling as I crest the last hill,
I want to stop, I give the reins slack.

All the memories here,
Of generations past
Friends, good times, probably a little beer,
Even as the people pass their memories will last.

My great grandpa who I never knew,
Working his footprints in this land,
My grandpa, uncle and dad too,
Now they leave their footprints in the sand.

I meet myself back when I was seven,
The crazy kid I was...still am
At the ripe old age of eleven.
Lost in the past, reliving old days, I come to the present with a bam.

KT McMurray January 2009