Echoes of Youth

Sitting still, the wooden slats creak,

a rhythm that echoes, a song from the week.

Children’s laughter spills into the night,

tagging memories lost in the fading light.

Fireflies blink like thoughts long misplaced,

reminding me of games we had faced.

The sun dips low, wrapping shadows in gold,

and stories emerge from the silence, retold.