anticipate it.

Little bird, we're all the same;
we long for times of youth again.
The ones where streetlights were our sun,
when 7am meant cartoons were on.

We laugh at our struggles of child-like woe,
when each school year was harder than before.
'Freedom' meant two months of sun,
start the count down to
the dreaded day to come.
when seasons changed and school's begun.

Now, seasons told by upcoming whimsy,
When adults would seem a little more tipsy,
The seasons were extremes of each,
the frigid white cold and sweltering heat.
They seemed to change, when the time was right,
When the upcoming holiday was in sight.
like day to night.

That weight we carried, our shoulders sore,
we never thought there would be more.
At the time, it seemed so tough,
but we truck through, though times are rough.
we remember those woes and now we see fluff,
of a life we carried on,
when we thought we'd had enough.

 
Little bird, we fondly look back,
and remember all the good times we had.
We see now, that we were once so naive,
never knowing what we've acheived.
Older now, and we can see,

Change will come, change will be.