These Summer Days

Wasting days of my precious childhood

As the lights go out and routine comes to an end
I ponder the question every teacher asks
“What did you do over the summer?”
Did I do something, anything worth remembering?

Nothing my life consists of is ever worth sharing
Most days I waste away time at work
The rare free time I had I used to read, sketch, and write
Will this always be my life?
Will this forever be my consistent routine?

Time and time again
I prayed this all would come to an end
Is this truly the way things will be?
Where I'm left alone while the others are on the scene?
Shall I always stick to this routine?

Reading, sketching, and writing
Reading, sketching, and writing
Is that all I have to remember of these young summer days?