Devious-Curves

 Our Last Picnic For half a hundred years or more When mom came walking through the door Picnic basket full of treats and all my favorite things to eat We'd wander down the nearest street Holding hands and skipping feet Always after winter's cold Our first picnic when I was four years old She'd find a nice soft patch of grass and we'd talk and talk as the morning passed I think Moms always listen best They have solid patience beyond the rest I'd tell mom about my day and the things the mean kids say and how I liked this boy name Tim and all the trouble I'd get in We'd sing songs or play a game Something new, never the same