We have a farm that's not too far from here.
Years ago we drove that way,
And didn't stay but a little while.
Memories grow short on me,
But I remember plenty.

"Hurry kids, we don't want to be late."
Late for what? I didn't care.

Amazed at all these cows just standing there,
With a blank stare.
Unaware of their intentions to be slaughtered.
I didn't know, I wasn't bothered,
And now that I do it's still not a problem.

They were eating this grass,
That looked like it was laminated.
Segregated by the tractor as it plowed
This green plastic sea that I had found.
Fit for a boy to bathe in...
...Interrupted by the one thing I hated.

"Hurry kids, we're going to be late."
Late for what? I'm on an adventure.

This creek beside the cow pasture
Was the deepest thing I had ever seen
A crooked stream and broken trees
Littered the mossy ravine.
The ground was dotted with sunlight,
With rocks and leaves in between.

There was a small bridge going up to a hill.
At the top was a hole in the trees
An absense that the sunlight filled.
Serene. A scene I'd seemed to dream.

Barely escaping the shade
I wandered over to the edge.
Where a bunch of broken bottles laid.
Reflecting the light, glistening in my eyes,
Trouble in disguise.

Broken bottles, I should've stayed away,
But uninhibited I stepped up to play.
Saving the day in a fit of irony
The incessant nagging came echoing to me...

"Come on kids, it's time to go."
My saving grace but resentment followed.

I never understood what the rush was,
The fascination with Time.
Wasting yours, wasting mine,
It's asinine.
But I guess I have a certain debt to Time.
Without it,
I would've never ended up where I wanted to be,
Indefinitely.