A Young Boy

There was a king adorned with jewels, Young and handsome, an age of merely thirteen; He walked the garden yards And singled out red rose’s blooms, Not the yellow, pink or white, Only red roses, and only the blooms; He played with trick kites, flying helicopters, and Wooden blocks—building castles, islands, and towers in the sky; He rode his bike, steering the wheels, staying in the boundaries, Every day, up and down, up and down the pebbled paths And slightly rolling hills; Tick tock, tick tock goes the clock, But for him—he kept no time; Sitting quiet, sitting still, he reads his verse, One line, the next line, one line at a time, And with the final word read, he wonders a great deal— About being born, about how to live, And death that comes across the times; An elegant sunset, and changing of the light, He runs across the lawn for his telescope, And maybe, just maybe, he might eat a little cantaloupe; Feet in flight, and much to his delight, A wish to greet the evening stars came true, He gazes into the nighttime sky, He does not even question as to why— Whoosh—his day did disappear, and time did fly.