"Corn Fields of Yesterday"

The clock unwinds, a gentle, wistful hand,

Returning me to fields, my promised land.

A child again, where mountains kissed the sky,

And pineapple dreams stretched wide before my eye.

My grandparents' farm, a canvas green and gold,

Where stories in the soil were to be told.

With Grandpa's hand in mine, I'd walk the rows,

And greet the laborers, as the warm wind blows.

The baby lambs, with eyes so soft and deep,

A task each day, their hungry mouths to keep

Content with milk, a ritual sweet and pure,

Before the school bell called, of that I'm sure.

The mountains lived, their ancient, silent grace,

While golden corn and peanuts filled their space.

Sweet potatoes slumbered, jackfruit stood so tall,

A symphony of life, embracing one and all.

My cousin's laughter, echoing in the air,

Beneath the sun, without a worldly care.

Volleyball's dance, a joyful, heated game,

Grandma's gentle hand, to wipe away the flame.

As twilight painted hues upon the west,

We'd rumble home, in Grandpa's trusty quest.

The "bonggo's" ride, a lullaby so sweet,

Carrying us home, on weary, dusty feet.

Oh, to be free, as breezes through the trees,

To live without the world's harsh decrees.

No expectations, just the sun's warm kiss,

In fields of yesterday, pure, unadulterated bliss.

Now, memories whisper, like the rustling corn,

Of days when life was simple, newly born.

I close my eyes, and in my heart, I stay,

Forever young, in fields of yesterday.

The Five Tales