Wrinkled hands brush the rough surface,
painted in white and orange,
every corner echoing laughter,
of children who knew no care.

Living in a dream,
turning scraps into trinkets,
from commonplace to paradise,
powers only the young possess.

Rusty ladders became adventures,
parking lot, a playground.

Memories of a time long gone,
flashed and got my heart racing,
like I'm running again,
with my friends,
without a care.