Trippin'

 

 

 

Remember the trip

from Greenville

to the Jersey Shore;

 

the beer warming

with each passing mile;

 

three kids

in the back of the bus

with July dawning

and little thought of tomorrow?

 

How loosely we held youth

in our innocent hands,

desperately trying to get old.

 

And who would have thought

that forty would come;

not like a screaming, freight train,

but creeping quietly through a back door.

 

Remember the trip

from then

‘til now;

 

the lines forming

with each passing year;

 

three men

in the front of the bus

with September setting

and many thoughts of yesterday?

 

How tightly we hold youth

in our guilty hands,

feebly trying

to understand.