by Franklin Flood
In a tree house by a stream, we used to dream and plan.
We knew that we could build a raft to sail across the land.
We watched the flying boxcars as they flew past in the sky,
Wishing we could get a ride sometime before we die.
We knew the pilots saw us because they used to wave,
At least we thought they waved at us, a memory we could save.
The sun would spill down through the leaves,
Making patterns on the floor
Until the sky would fill with clouds, and there was sun no more.
We knew that we should walk back home before it got too dark.
Our dog was chasing at our heels; we loved to hear his bark.
Someday when we are older and we need to plan and dream,
We need to build another tree house by a stream.
Even if we never do, we still have one so fine,
The one we used to dream in, nineteen fifty-nine.