We picked berries along the road,

In the shade of giant white oaks,

And chewed the sweet ends of timothy grass,

Amongst Tiger Lilies, and red clover,

And patches of little wild daisies.

We were intoxicated by the scent of honeysuckle,

And the sweetness of the fruit that stained our palms.

As evening drifted into the darkness of night,

And fireflies dotted the hill by the pond,

A bullfrog croaked and the white tails grazed,

With caution, not knowing we watched.

I realized how I missed them all,

These things that had surrounded my youth,

In my adult home far away in the Rockies.