Excavating the moss-sheathed tar barrel.
Child hands clawing in infamy at viny bonds,
uncovering hidden treasure beneath the fronds.
Exulting its freedom in our guileless carol.
Mystical crusaders in our grail-esque search.
Proudly heralding our auspicious prize,
buoyant to burst;the simplicity of our lives.
Never for a second could reality besmirch.
Only ever was sticky, century old tar.
“X-Marked Spot" moments were eternal,
succulent sunrise lives forever diurnal.
No threads of fate could ever mar.
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