Adults, intent on fences, wishing their backyards were bigger.
Children, on swings and trampolines, as light and free as birds.
May 16, 2021
All of Us
I climb the corner pine, my cousin ahead on the branch above.
It’s our birthday month. Higher and higher. Needles and bark.
When we come down, we’re sixty-five. Some say age. I say luck.
We run a race. We hide. We throw clods. We dodge and duck.
Fathers. Mothers. Sons. Daughters. We listen to them talk.
And then — some of us are gone. And then — all of us.
Some say time. I say luck. After lunch we’ll look for frogs.
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Aging, Birthdays, Childhood, Children, Death, Diaries, Family History, Frogs, Good Fortune, Gratitude, Journals, Memory, Our Old Farm, Pines, Play, Poems, Poetry, Swings and Trampolines