Boys
BOYS
Moving, ever still,
Or so it seems, until
You find him
Thinking,
On top a fence,
Up in a tree,
Or grassy hill.
Dirt and grime,
It seems, until a time
You find him
Washing,
Slick down hair,
Brushing teeth,
For dollar or dime.
Strong and rough,
You’ve had enough,
Then you find him
Helping,
Carrying a bag,
Tender nurse,
When times are tough.
Copyright, Kathryn Search
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