We knew from the start
That the game wasn’t fair
Yet we played anyway
Pretending that childhood
Would always be there
Just a bike ride away
But where is it now?
It’s over
Over the fields of clover
Beyond the white cloud
Atop the green hill
It is there still
It lives in that place
Non-existent, abiding
Where it’s always July
Where cross the lush summers
Two bikers are riding
Just two kids: you and I
Live for the Love of it,
Sasha A. Palmer (a.k.a. "Happy")
