This weekend, I had the opportunity to attend a workshop at which Ralph Fletcher was speaking.
I brought my writer’s notebook for the occasion and was not disappointed.
Ralph offered the following poem as a mentor text for us to follow:Here is the poem I wrote:
The Good Old Days
Sometimes I remember the good old days, swimming with my brother until we were called in for dinner.
No adults telling us what to do or how to do it.
Repeatedly jumping in, swimming back and forth underwater until our lungs were about to burst.
Turning somersaults, performing endless handstands and backflips until our fingers and toes resembled prunes; bloodshot eyes.
I still can’t imagine anything better than that.