word pictures

I wrote this poem a couple of years ago. When I read it I feel like I'm 6 years old again playing in my grandparents backyard.

potato bugs and roses 

Sitting under a canopy of green summer leaves.
Crawling around in the dirt on my knees.
I catch a black potato bug,
it rolls up in my hand.
I lay my palm out flat as my little hand can.
The potato bug unrolls,
and starts to walk around,
it tickles my hand,
making me laugh and crawls up on my arm.
I pick it up and put it in a clear glass mason jar.
I take the jar and walk,
to the side of the yard where all the roses are.
I smell every color of rose,
each one sweeter than before.
Breathing in the sweet perfume of roses and fresh cut grass,
I'm content to watch the roses,
and let the evening pass.