so often…

 revisiting where i grew up,
 i walk along a starry beach:
 the gulf is gentle, welcoming,
 the moon seems within reach --

 but childhood is not, i fear.
 so often, we remember
 the way things felt, not how they were.
 and so, this is blue december

 i will recall the world that was,
 and note, respectfully
 that those times were not simple, just
 made simple, then

 for me

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