To The School Yard

And spending youth, I see green emerald eyes like leaves of hazel days. The school yard where as children, laughing most would come to play. Streaming clouds that blow quickly by our lives. Grey measured out in spring, each new bed made of May. And full grown leather bags, our world of marbles. Weighted down in memories left our copper treasure. Coming now to sit and soften this in turn and each must wait their turn our weary eyes are burned away. And skipping hand in hand but not in love. We never strayed the circle once when as to then, and narrow leading wanders I am drifting farther out. Never closed but growing only tighter sqeezed away. Bent the golden worn out dimond ring. Bold and stooped with all consuming grace, while my head the wind has turned away. To the school yard, where once as children I turn and ask her why none now can play.