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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #2193197
A lovely Spring morning in the life of a little boy.

A boy, stick in hand
might be anyone --
pirate, knight, alien --
or he might be no one at all --
a vacant page on
which the click-click-click
of that wooden
sword-lance-light saber
slapping between the slats of
the picket fence as he
walks the neighborhood
barely garners his attention.

The warmth of the morning sun on
his face will pass almost
unnoticed as will the scent
of lilac bushes down the block.

The curious color of Spring's
weeping willow branches,
a blend neither green nor yellow
but somewhere in between makes
little impression and even the
sour sweetness of the lemon
drop candy his grandpa
slipped him after breakfast
only dissolves away into a
distant corner of his
unfathomable bliss.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2193197