My memories are a series of backyard cul-de-sacs That smell of fresh cut grass and juniper. Wyoming sunsets burned and Crickets sang their hearts as the sky turned orange And mother called us in from the day. In one particular backyard Sat a stagnant John Deer tractor that remained Green all year round As it rested quietly in the shade Of the Bellevue Alley shrubbery (No more than ten feet from the fence line). A younger Me could turn the ruins of Once Great Machines into a dream. This useless tractor was fully functional In the eyes of a younger me- Those eyes saw fearlessly a cowboy With buckles and leather and mouths to feed And dried up fields that desperately Need a farmer's touch. A younger Me could go and do great things in the shade, While the rest of the yard was green- How it glistened in the sunlight. Lisa. Please watch over me; Write it down in your memory that I- I was a child lost in a daydream. She would say Only boring people get bored. So, today I'll be plowing a field and Corralling cattle before the dust storm. Disintegrating are the chances for our lunch break- There is too much work to be done today and The cattle won't milk themselves.