More likely I'll become the type to just sit alone and have a cry when no one's looking.
Miss 3:05
I saw her pass on time today,
At 3:05, down our byway,
The blonde school girl who walks on by
Over school years, she’s grown so high!
Her High School is just up the road,
Her school back pack packed with it’s load,
Kids who live close by can’t take the bus,
And so she walks home, as she must
She was much shorter years ago,
And stood up straight as by she’d go,
She walks now with a head bent gait,
Her textbooks it seems have gained weight
As she walks by I’ve wished to wave,
Her hair waves back on windy days,
I feel as if we’ve waved for years,
I doubt she even knows I’m here What grade she’s in I do not know,
Just by I see her walking go,
I’ve watched her grow over the years,
Soon she’ll grow up, that’s naught to fear,
Ago I was a high school kid,
Walked from my bus stop, we all did,
Daily past homes, same time each day,
Then I grew up and moved away,
I’m sure she’ll move on too, someday
But, why do I love her?
It may be;
The reckonings of short legged youth,
And their looking up views of the future,
Are now shadowed by a blinkering truth,
That upon these rolling crests of silvering age,
One's wistful potential's now only remembered,
It’s loss accepted without rage
No comments:
Post a Comment