Pulling My Red Wagon

It seemed like yesterday

when I was being pulled down the street

during the scorching summer,

in my little red wagon

by my little old grandma.

Oh, but what a feat

it must have been

pulling my little body,

in my little red wagon

by my little old grandma,

no bigger than me.

But I,

I thought that I was a knight,

being pulled by my trusty steed,

picking up rocks

on the way,

but treating them

as diamonds

and storing them

while being pulled

in my little old wagon

by my little old grandma,

no bigger than me,

still being dragged down the street.

To my little old grandma,

my findings

were no diamonds,

but rather just some more

weight to lug

in my little old wagon

by my little old grandma,

no bigger than me,

still being dragged down the street,

bearing the scorching heat.

And wherever we stop

she always lays

breathless in the grass

while I sit perfectly behind

in my little old wagon,

next to my little old grandma,

no bigger than me,

who dragged me down the street,

who bore the scorching heat.

But oh,

I did not know,

how simple it was

to be a child.