Recalling years when keys were cut from brass,
And Sunset Point was young, an unpaved hill,
We’d, hand in hand, go claim our piece of grass,
From which to view the evening’s bright playbill.
The Polynesian Village draws us still,
Though through the seasons of our lives we’ve grown,
Then brass gave way to shiny, plastic shill,
With which we accessed parks and went ‘Downtown’.
Technology now back-fills all we’d known,
As bright, new wristlets track our every move,
They’re entry keys, ‘fast’ passes, cash on loan,
And each may choose the shade that suits their groove.
‘Hidden Mickey’ and new ‘Magic Bands’,
Symbolic of our family summer plans.