Maybe as the child in us departs, a shadow comes over our faces. But is it our fault? How happy we shall be! we proclaim in the pale tones of early morning after revisiting the youthful joy of singing a song out loud. Yet we are troubled to see that the once bright red bricks of the chimney have visibly darkened. A birdfeeder falls in the backyard, cracks and spills its seeds. We leave it on the ground.
Sunday, March 19, 2017
Like Birds
Perhaps children
are like birds. Today see one thing, tomorrow another, yet remember nothing.
They clamor for pebbles to build a toppling palace with, for flowers forgotten
as soon as they are cut. With the invisible strings of a pretend bow they shoot
a make-believe arrow into the open sky. As long as they don’t aim, they’ll
never miss the mark.
Maybe as the child in us departs, a shadow comes over our faces. But is it our fault? How happy we shall be! we proclaim in the pale tones of early morning after revisiting the youthful joy of singing a song out loud. Yet we are troubled to see that the once bright red bricks of the chimney have visibly darkened. A birdfeeder falls in the backyard, cracks and spills its seeds. We leave it on the ground.
Maybe as the child in us departs, a shadow comes over our faces. But is it our fault? How happy we shall be! we proclaim in the pale tones of early morning after revisiting the youthful joy of singing a song out loud. Yet we are troubled to see that the once bright red bricks of the chimney have visibly darkened. A birdfeeder falls in the backyard, cracks and spills its seeds. We leave it on the ground.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
As always, your poetry/prose is lyrical. Beautiful imagery. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading, Martha
ReplyDelete