Pine Needles

They scootered through the neighborhood,

Their helmets strapped on tight.

On foot, we followed, making sure

That they got home all right.

We stopped beneath a pine tree,

Touched the needles, soft and green,

As I remembered years ago,

A slightly different scene:

My grandson in the stroller

Where he reached out just to feel

Those needles which held, even then,

Such strong tactile appeal.

The years fly by, each memory

Tucked safely in its place,

Just waiting to be summoned

When I need its sweet embrace.