A forest, purple in the twilight's dim
Rekindles memory of youthful play;
Of running, hiding 'neath the roots of trees,
And feigning lives and deaths of olden day.
The panting breath, and laughter held in check
While playing games with war and great surprise;
Then jumping up, and scaring valued friends,
To see them play their roles with actors eyes.
We rode great steeds, and acted out the best
Of heroes seen in books or on the screen;
A slashing sword, a flowing cape, a mask,
Were props we made to recreate each scene.
Within the forest, dim and drear, I see
The champions of my dreams, and all are me.

Hal Maples © 1991