Joy

When the kids were young it was all about fun.
How could we make it? 
How could we take it? 
What if we break it? 
What if it's done? 

Now the kids have some of their own.
There's a new crop of wild oats to be sown.
A new bunch of balloons that are soon to be blown.
And we're looking for fun, now that we're on our own.

They say that the difference between men and boys
Is the size and the cost and the noise of their toys.
And, truth to the tell, goes for girls just as well.

But I think the best of the rest of the joys
Isn't entailed in the celebrant's noise.
It's remembering the time we loved when we loved it,
Not the age of the celebrants dwelling in rhyme.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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