A Day In June

Alone in my new garden where the swing set used to be,
I sat and tilled the fertile ground, preparing it for seed.
The patchy grass that used to grow between young feet at play,
Alas, to my new pastime in the dirt had given way.

The worms and bugs which once were pets I simply left alone.
The tiny rocks were nuisances that had been T-Rex bones.
But as I dug, my trowel brought a treasure from below;
A pinkish, plastic bubble wand awaiting a child's blow.

It brought a smile to my face as I set it aside.
A simple toy, yet so much joy it brought to those who tried.
I was amazed at what that magic bubble wand could do.
It took me to a day in June, back when my son turned two.

Oh, what fun we'd had that day, the sprinkler tickling us.
We fixed a picnic on the grass, and neither ate our crust.
He learned to hit a wiffle ball and squealed from base to base,
And then we blew the bubbles; he would puff and I would chase.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek as giggles I recalled.
The laughs have slowly faded as my little one's grown tall.
Now, on my spring and summer days I till the hours away
Remembering the childhood games that he and I once played.

I wish I had a dollar for each time I'd turned him down.
His asking me to twirl him or to kick the ball around;
To hide and seek, or venture out to wonder at the moon.
I'd gladly give it all away for one more day in June.