Boys I Poem by robert dickerson

We shout and race, we roll downhill, we play,
till landing at the bottom up we spring
sticks and stones will sometimes mar the way
but, oh, we love to play and, oh, we love to sing.

Summer we love, but mostly we love Spring
then mother gives us dimes bright kites to buy.
Father bends and bridles them with string
Up, up they go, into the lovely sky.

After Spring is done comes jolly Summer
Then every boy has leisure as he wishes
Then the day is longer-why? I wonder.
From the rivers' bed we pull the pretty fishes

and over the stones we chase the dragonfly.
But yesterday did Robin trip and fall:
blood began and he began to cry
then we were sad, my brothers I and all.