Woodland Lake

Woodland Lake

I miss the days when I was a child and we'd camp in a trailer while our grandparents smiled.

I miss the stories the told by the fire, the songs we would sing until we got tired.

I miss the roasted marshmallows and hotdogs carved like a spider.

I miss the popcorn popping over top of the flames.

I miss my cousins and siblings, although I still see them, we no longer play our childish games.

I miss the pool, the arcade, the small change that it costed.

I miss the lake, and the bridge we would use when we crossed it.

I miss the raft in the middle that would float there all day.

I miss swimming out to jump off and play.

I miss the pedal boats, the park, the teeter totters, the swings.

I miss the imagination, we were queens and kings.

I miss the tractor rides, I miss biking trails through the forest.

I miss the hills, the tree's, and the homemade hot porridge.

I miss the sound of rain hitting the roof while I slept.

I miss the campground.

I miss the innocence I left.