Photograph

Written October 10, 2010

A sunlit playground, the tiny forms clad

in brown and white, their shrieks of joy;

'njoying a free moment

The sounds float up to my window, a welcome distraction

To the endless monotony within

The windowsill forming a natural frame

Freezing the moment in the passage of time

As though by some heavenly camera

Since the beginnings of man, a scene oft repeated

Children playing, poets writing

Penning their feelings, on teh children playing

As yet a subject forever untiring

Undrying in its well of emotions and precociousness

The efforts to recapture an innocence

Lost by the writer aeons ago

Every generation must have

A poet and a poem on the Joy of Youth

The only change in this bookmark scene of life

Or it so seemeth to me-

As time passes, the children, and the shouts-

Remain the same...

But the poets..

Hell! They grow younger every time!!!!