A few steps down the road,

A great tree once stood.

With branches made for feet,

And bristles with a ticklish feel.

Down the road we'd race,

And up the giant we'd climb.

To feel the cool breeze,

To see the sights,

To feel so free.

Time free from reality,

A waning moment of independence.

High up above the rules and responsibilities,

Feeling the sheer freedom of a place of our own.

The branches have been clipped,

The bristles lay on the ground.

A stump is left,

A mere reflection of our great abode.

The rules and responsibilities have resurfaced,

Leaving us pining for that freedom once more.

Though the moment has passed,

The stump radiates the memories formed long ago.