Innocence Lost

I remember the fifties...
Sunday afternoons,
grandmother's porch
after morning Mass.
Sunday dinner,
with music to follow
a celebration,
tunes until dusk.
People drove by
in those old finned cars
with seats as big
as grandmother's couch.
Driving slow,
nowhere to go,
folks waved and smiled
as they went by.
With dogs and cats
we children ran
in fields with grass
as tall as the sky.
skipping down
to abandoned tracks
to pick wild berries
and ponder frogs.
stopping then
to splash each other
in a trickling stream
by the old grey barn.
yes, we was "poor folk"
but damn it all...,
we laughed a lot,
we knew how to live!
we can never go back,
to innocence lost,
and I feel sad,
yet somehow blessed...
for having been there.
David Chiasson