Gazing over the marshland terrain,

Remembering a childhood war campaign,

We held the marshes & against the Nazi’s we did sustain,

Covered in mud & smelling of it too,

Mom stripped all of us bare, & with a hose washed us,

Before she would let us enter her newly cleaned domain…

Such memories of childhood make us of that time dream,

Of cowboys & Indians & war games we did scheme,

Hard we fought against the setting sun,

Practically had to be dragged into the house,

When the wonderfully fun day was done…

But next day it did all start over,

No responsibilities did we have,

Even dad took out and walked our rover,

We chased each other & fell down laughing,

Out of water hoses & same straws we drank,

Mom would clean us & our clothes,

So who cares if we of garbage stank…

We were kids playing in the marshes,

On them at low tide, till the bay did rise,

Soaking wet and reeking of salt,

Then to the boardwalk shoppe for a malt…

© ed/\/\ 3/23/09