I played every day with the kid on the block;
games of all kinds, never minding the clock.

With cunning and dare, we climbed every tree;
the secrets we kept had only one key.

Season of rain brought change as we grew;
laughter and fun we no longer know.

Slingshots and marbles that used to be toys;
now stored in the attic with innocence of boys.

The years of our youth are all left behind;
not much to see from a tattered old mind.

But remembering to look what I hold in my hand;
that rusty old key can remind me of him.

– B. Wilhelm, CBT Publications®