May 2010

7 May

The children scream
and I feel the release
of the curse of always having to tell

I feel the rush of the breeze
and the petals from trees
as they drift like the falling snow

I see a pick-up truck
with a cardboard box
and a white rocking-chair
on a porch

And I wonder if they sit there
just like I do every afternoon

I think to myself as I look
at all of the colors
they won’t be here long
because the summer sun will come
and burn them away

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