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.
Copyright © Kathleen Stevens | Year Posted 2012
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