The Backyard

A walk through my parents yard,

the grass where I played.

Childhood memories abound in a rush,

a flood of emotion.

The dirt spot where bats were swung,

the soft indentation where the weeping willow fell.

The old shed, once over there, now over here.

The land I learned to trim with mechanical blades.

Hills where my son now plays.

The backyard is more than just a plain of green,

a space where family convenes.

Memories created, memories never forgotten.

Remember when grandpa held my hand and walked with me.

The backyard is a space common to many, unique to each.

An escape from daily tribulations,

an oasis clustered in suburbia.

The backyard is but a dream.

Backyard, oh backyard.

-Vince V.


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