Sunday Mornings

Sunday mornings.

Deep in the woodlands,

Sprawled across pastures,

we found ourselves.

Clothed in warm sunlight, we ran,

Our feet caked with dirt

And our hearts filled with wonder.

What did we have to worry about or fear?

We had no inhibitions,

And the soft breeze made us feel invincible.

It caressed our faces

As we turned them up to the open sky

And smiled.

Now we pass each other

In stone gray hallways,

No smiles or words between us.

You always look tired

and prefer your own company.

I always feel dead inside.

I guess that’s part of growing up.

The colors and warmth of innocence

Have left us behind.

We worry too much,

Our hearts become cold,

And eventually

We forget about those

Sunday mornings.