There is a place in my parent's backyard 

Where the pyracantha curve towards the house

Spiky leaves press up against cream colored chipped siding

There was a place in my backyard 

Where you could see two dirt covered kids 

cramped under deep green pyracantha bushes, wearing berries like crowns

magical stories weaving between them glistening the way only fairy tales can 

There was a place that was just my brother's and mine 

A place full of adventures and memories 

Covered by leaves that scratch and berries that poison

where simple bushes could be majestical castles that faded away