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.
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