On a warm summer day.
Molding dirt and water
Into pottery clay.
Awaken napping mother
Sad faced strangers
Are at the door
Live is changed evermore.
Flowered laden coffin
Will soon be passed
Gazing down at white patent shoes
On tailored green grass.
The pottery rests
From no more play.
A child grew old
On one summer day.
The wind has dried
And blown the clay
Away....
I was the child that grew old on one summer day.