This Poem was Submitted By: R. Lee Buckley On Date: 2002-02-17 21:02:55 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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When Childhood Rode Off With The Indians

Along the weed-grown fence, between nettles and rotted poplars, only adventurers were found... Indians and pirates crossing childhood. They enjoyed oceans of grasses behind house and fence stumps, and the childhood explorers sometimes returned as Norsemen. We may remember ourselves, happy, on bikes with punctured tires from thorns, drinking in the smell of delicious hot tar. But childhood dies when we can no longer laugh at ourselves, or remember how to imagine being a juniper tree. When we no longer desire to run barefoot across lawns, we may correctly assume that childhood rode off with the Indians.

Copyright © February 2002 R. Lee Buckley

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