I like to believe
the grass was never as green
as the picture shown
running on, and on
through years
of burnt out sepia,

depicting the days,
oh...the days,
when pumpkin wasn't
such a literal word
and made out as
a brilliant, blinding orange.

I felt like reaching
into this pocket book of moments,
pulling a few negatives
into positive light
and remembering just why
the grass was so much greener.

Time was always the answer,
and like the leaves,
beetles came and went,
eating holes in its fabric,
leaving me staring
right through them.