We were singing little ditties

all summer.

We were singing little songs

of peace.

We had hopes to dare, to soar, to crash,

for we were little scamps

that summer.

We were riding adventures

all summer.

We fought hand-in-hand

together.

We braved far lands,

through bogs, our parents.

With our wooden swords we staved off dragonflies,

last summer.

But last summer

had come to an end.

Last summer did, as all summers are wont to do.

We were made to grow up

and say our goodbyes.

We may have traded our suits of armour

for suits of linen,

our swords become mantelpiece attractions.

But I will always remember

our summers.