Sometimes I wonder about that tree house in my backyard,

With its aged wood boards and slippery runged ladder,

The dark green slide matches the forest beyond,

That tree house where the innocence of childhood took place,

A place where robins sang a morning melody,

A warm place for a wandering squirrel to rest,

That conglomeration of wood where anything was possible,

Where laughter and tears mixed together to form experience,

But as the years faded by, the aging of the tree house went far beyond its wood,

The children grew older and life began to reach them,

It just so happened that the world was a lot different than that backyard,

The perfect world the youthful mind imagined ceased to exist,

For behind those secure walls laid a realm of misgivings,

An unseen thing now brought to light,

And much like that tree house,

Some things were best left unfinished.