â€œThere was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he looked upon, that object he became,
And that object became a part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years of stretching cycles of years.â€
The tall golden plants of wheat became a part of this child,
And the rotted wooden cow fence and the rushing silver stream below his house,
And the constant melody of the spring peepers as he awoke each morning,
And the sea of dark black pavement known as the blacktop where he and his companions practically dwelled,
And the long twisted driveway that flowed like a river down his steep
Hilly property, and the ocean of grass in the field behind his house,
And that gigantic decayed old oak tree, that was his constant base of operations
when the leaves where bright and uplifting, and its long out stretched branches served as sentinels always on guard, all became a part of him.
The crisp crystal snow that crunched like glass under the Childs feet
And the mirror on the ground that eventually grew sturdy enough to glide across,
And those wonder filled nights when the air crisp and biting, and the stars were just out of reach, and the moon no bigger than the width of his hand,
And the man at the movie store who wreaked the sweet stench of the popcorn he was constantly dishing out,
And the mail woman that was always punctual and always came bearing a bone for the childâ€™s puppy,
And the miles of endless cow pastures that epitomized the stereotype of his cow-town.
His own mother and father through whom he breathed life and would sacrifice anything
Their persistence for his happiness, thirst for success, and undying devotion, along with his sisterâ€™s lust for adventure and moral lessons, became a part of him.