Sandbox

There used to be a sandbox
Where some plantings are in bloom.
The germaphobes today
Would never use it, I assume.

But years ago I plopped my son
With shovel, pail and truck
In that sand where he would dig
And I could read, with any luck.

The benches formed a semi-circle
So the moms would sit
And enjoy some peace and quiet,
Even if for just a bit.

Though the playground had a sandbox,
This one by the mayor’s manse
Had no slide or swing distractions –
Just the river’s smooth expanse.

I look fondly on those hours
When my child played in the sand,
Something mothers of today most likely
Wouldn’t understand.