Boys Ii Poem by robert dickerson

Then comes the Fall-our breath begins to show.
Off to school we go, to school we go.
We spell and practice numbers, then, oh, no,
we're made to dance with girls-we hate that though.

Sounds the bell, then out the door we tear
Teacher, too, is glad the morning over-
the center of the football field is bare:
for there we play pom-pom and glorious red-rover.

Winter we love, for then the water frozes
Me and Georgy trek to Injun Isle
or follow pikes with long, needley noses
beneath the ice hours upon hour, miles upon mile.

Then its a year: it seems so endless long
Its made of days, but I forget how many.
Mother says enjoy it while we're young
but I'm not young-I'm two years more than Danny.