Tarred

he who holds strong to youth
merely crushes it in his grip
and strangles fond memories
in a dark, bitter bitumen

Are we there yet?

larkspur child lacking guile
breezy whims and summer smile
let us hop forward in single file
and play away the many miles

Dandelion Seed

The weeds have grown
over the glen that was ours:
childhood memories shedding
dandelion seed

The Old Man and the Boy with a Fife

Down along the country lane
a boy prances with his fife
hat askew and blue coat dusty
but piping, “Oh joyous life!”

Above my hoe, I wipe my sweat
and belay him with a smile
begging, “Kindly linger, boy,
and stay here for a while.

For my toil is long and arduous
and the labor hard, unceasing,
but your quick step and music
sings of harvest and of feasting.

And your greenness tells me of newness.
Your vivacity shines like gold.
Your freedom soothes me dearly,
making young what was long old.”

But the boy could not tarry
and he did not cease his dance
but bowed politely for a moment
and then on and on, he pranced.

I watched him in bitter sorrow
but also love welled in my heart
wishing him gentle tomorrows
as we slowly came

apart.

Effortless

O happiness of youth
and radiant possibilities
why must such flowers
bloom readily
for only a short while?

Ifs and Buts

My greatest advisors
through a lonely childhood
have always been books,
but now I find their ideals
have too many exceptions.

Sea Foam

what strength
the young have
for new beginnings:

they who sprung,
marvelously
from nothing

Clubbing

youths dance the night away
enjoying moment to moment
but not realizing
most of their companions
are also temporary

Rain on Windows

2 a.m.
the rain raps at
my window
reminding me
of your stones

of a warm
summer night
when we walked barefoot
through the pond reeds into
a cove

where you told me
you loved me
for the first time

2 a.m.
but I know better now
and keep my window
shut

A Hundred Years More

Once, I craved
the tartness of raspberries
and drowned myself
in operatic arias

I stepped twice
on cobblestones
to hear the echo
of my heels

The scent of lavender
brought me, again
to spring

though the flowers crumbled
in my fingers

I lived winter in ignorance.