memories

draw those curtains,
lets walk that path we did,
gone maybe the days,
when we used to boogey to Sinatra,
turn around in the barn,
to the music made,
revolutions of black plates never sweet,
lovingly a sound produce,
and we would sit on that hay,
strewn all around,
in locked arms,
watch friends shake and twist,
to melodies from a box emerging,
short dresses in all shades,
flare trousers a dance doing,
soft drinks at a corner sat,
the friday night heat to cool,
and we would escape to the farm,
amid a clear night sky,
filled with twinkling stars,
and a moon fulled,
floating to nowhere,
on the grass we would play,
fun to a night of merry added,
couples under the trees sat,
an old truck,
a refuge for some,
a ground filled with sky watchers,
and i would walk to a stream,
that by did pass,
now all forgotten,
to its clear waters my feat dip,
and let those frogs
my toes play with,
and she would come around,
and my whole self in would go,
and she too would pay,
making laughter in wet garments,
and when it all wound end,
we would take the foot paths,
to those mute homesteads,
and of happy days it was,
in goodnights sealed by a kiss