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Childhood.

The foals frolic and frisk on the lush grass
Of the ranch
With a happiness, long forgotten by adults.
The grasses crunch loudly under my boots
Like the powdered snow under our boots
When I was young and happy like the foals
Every December holiday at Cincinnati
Was all about climbing birches and on them
Hung the dandelions, like we were once hung
On a huge, swing pendulum that spun,
Like a vertical planet or a chiming clock,
That used to decieve us into believing in permanence
And it was exhilarating to do that in the same lifetime
As it was to read Illiad in the corner, curled up.
In my woolgatherings, I experience it all again
And my heart thumps the same number as it did
Except that I am not supposed to and I busy Myself in weeding out and filling boxes of eggs in the hatchery but,
When a familiar, willowy laughter emerges from the playground
It reminds me of where my happiness went & A different kind of happiness supplants.