I was playing with my brother in our bare feet

  The old ice cream man was coming down the street

He was pushing a cart, and ringing his bell

  It was a sound we both new well



We ran to the house to get a dime

  then we got back just in time

He had silver hair, and ragged feet,

  and when he smiled he had no teeth



  He would sell us ice cream,

with a wooden spoon,

  And tell us stories about the man in the moon

now those days are gone

  but his memories are not.

I remember him dearly, he want be forget



  Now i am getting old, and have aching feet

like the old ice cream man

  That came down our street

Hi Old man,
You might want to read again as you may find some typos, that need your attention.
biola

If this is your first poem, then I have to say you have talent. I love the picture that you paint and can relate to many of the images you conjure up for the reader to enjoy.

There's some technical stuff that needs addressing, but it might be too early days for a lot of that right now.

As Biola already pointed out, you need to fix a few typos and I think with some effort you could improve upon the rythm of the narrative.

Keep at it. This is a promising start.

Hi Biola,

It was a sound we both new well--Knew

I remember him dearly, he want be forget won't be forgot

Yes indeed Biola--we grow into understanding and empathy. Warm memory poem.

Thanks everyone,  been out with the flu