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The Golden Creatures
  Hiding amongst the sheltered valley,
  Concealed beneath the trees,
  I gazed into the exposed plain,
  “I thought I glimpsed a fairy.”
  
  Sitting in the whispy, evergreen thinking-tree,
  Pondering life’s vicissitudes,
  I heard a soft whistle in my ear,
  Turning toward the noise, “I thought I saw a bird.”
  
  Laughing by the moss-covered fallen log,
  I chuckle as I fall,
  Imagining that I,
  “Have fallen down a rabbit hole.”
  
  Leaping atop the maple-wood bridge down the wooded path,
  Peering through the cracks at the rocks far below,
  A flash of color and a small little cough,
  I thought that, “Perhaps it was a troll.”
  
  Perched upon the rock amongst the shallow pool by the banks of the Suncook,
  Gazing through the wooded curtain at the raging river in front of me,
  A twinkle of scales, a splash as the glimmer recedes,
  I envision that, “I have spotted a mermaid.”
  
  My mother laughs,
  My father ruffles my disheveled locks,
  “Don’t worry.” He says,
  “You’ll catch them next time.”
  
  Like a stubborn mule,
  I try to contain the magic residing in my woods,
  I travel into the shade beneath the maple trees every day,
  Resolve burning within.
  
  That was so many golden years ago,
  When I knew not of the reality in life,
  When I imagined a time,
  When I could finally fly.
  
  Now, as I stroll through my wooded kingdom,
  The birds do not stop to talk,
  The fairies have ceased to remain visible,
  I no longer hear the chuckles of the gnomes when the rain makes me miserable.
  
  The resident rabbit has now moved on,
  The mermaid has migrated south, I think,
  The troll has relocated, tired of my pestering,
  The birds no longer sing their sweet song in my ear.
  
  As I romp through the woods,
  I see the sheltered valley, surrounded by trees all ‘round,
  I laugh as I slip off the rotting log,
  I leap across the now-disintegrating bridge,
  Lastly, I perch upon the rock, staring into the receding river.
  
  The golden days of our friendship,
  Disappearing with the snow,
  Falling less and less every year,
  Yet when I remember them, the memories seem to glow.

 
Childhood memories are wonderful things. I feel that this poem gifts those golden childhood days with the cridit they deserve.