Walking through fields of memories
Bright poppies of yesteryear
Reaching viridian tendrils, softly
Reaching with folding red lips
Whispering of long nights long passed
Whispering our secrets to the world
In this field of memories

Dancing breezes dressed in tufts of cotton
The dandelion seeds waft like snowflakes
Taking steps we took once, long ago
Dancing our dance in this field
Echoing laughter of our childhood
Captured long ago and stored forever
Kept in the dancing breeze

Shall we go to the old apple tree?
Gnarled bark knotted with a thousand love notes
To sit beneath the wide, spreading branched
In the speckled twilight of the shade
To breathe the scent of sun warmed apples
To hide between the twisting roots
Shall we go to the old apple tree?
Shall we go to the old apple tree
There in the field of our memory
And dance with the cotton wind?