the old man
watches the child -
throwing pebbles into the river
singing among the picked up flowers
two birds painted upon a blue blue sky
barefoot biting the ripe peach, the boy ventures
into the orchard, and pulls up
Anne and the other girl’s sandy skirts,
into the evening, their protests seem little laughs,
sweet pretenders.
when have i lived?
murmurs the old man,
watching.
.
by me
