ode to golden days
the country is a good place to be
in july.
tiny hands plucking grapes,
dancing in the dust
only deep south dirt can breathe.
playing hide and seek
from the afternoon sun.
splashing in a river,
red dirt ruined clothes
on its bank.
rickety chairs and too sweet tea
as the sun sinks low in the sky.
lying together in a room
yellow as the light of memory
the smell of lavender upon
linen sheets.
morning still came
but growing up came with it.
the innocence of childhood is sweet
though it lingers on your tongue
and makes you wish for just
one
last
taste.
-Selah Greer, freshman
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