On A Cold Summers Day

to buzz like fly
and slither through
the sky;

running past these summer days
we were not mild or extreme,
living in streets we lied.

for summer days will
come to play and
sweep and pass you by

we couldn't see--
the fire died
we cried and
past awry

so Mother said,
We wont be immortal forever.

and we
diamonds frolicked
in the afternoon sun.

Reviews

[Lourisa]

Immortality seems quite possible when one is still a child. Mother is right of course, but frolic on for you still have this moment. Great poem, Randall.

[Mr.Boffin]

thanks :) exactly what i was thinking when I wrote this