Where Did The Dreamer Go?

I do it for the child in me.
That secret spot.
Where nobody went.
Climbing trees.
Being kids.
Freedom.
It's a magical thing,
when you underestimate it.
Grass clippings become things.
Blood shot eyes filled with chlorine.
But we played.
We were only kids.
Not a care in the world.
Maybe thats the secret.
Those were the days.
Forts?
Shall we...
Bedding is off limits.
Pull table chairs from kitchen table.
When you were free,
To be a child.
Then you get older.
Wiser.
Growth is one thing,
Progress is another.
But to be a child,
Or to know better.