Cross the meadow. On the other side of the hill,
down by, the old watermill. Watching the water swirl,
a little boy, and a little girl. Skipping rocks and fishing,
closing their eyes, and wishing. Climbing trees to
touch the skies, then jumping down, to chase butterflies.
The sun begins to set with a chill, as a little birdie cries
out with a trill. But for them, time has stood still.
Thursday, March 11, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: youth,autumn,reflections