The scream of a child
The screech of chipmunk
The chipmunk does not know of play
The child knows naught of survival
Hundreds of yards and millions of years separation
Yet originating from the same
Is the child blessed or cursed
Is the chipmunk blessed or cursed
One free in the forest
One confined to a schoolyard
spring is upon us, it has sprung
to pack away winter, the time has come.
the flowers are blooming the grass is turning green
birds chirp around us, wishing to be seen.
the smell is fresh, the breeze is cool
food on the grill makes us drool.
a heap of sunshine, no sign of gray
it really can brighten up our day.
Sun beating down,
Water all around.
A quaint breeze,
Flows throughout the trees.
Studying is in the back of the mind,
Leaving all thoughts behind.
Relaxing in the pool,
Not thinking of school.
Starting to get crispy,
I was feeling risky.
A nice day and yummy food,
Puts Lexi in a good mood.
The day is done,
Feeling beat from the sun.
There I lay:
in the middle of May
in the middle of day
in the middle of a week
in the middle of a lake
in the middle of a deep
in the middle of a sleep
in the middle of a wake–M’aidez!
A Ball Abandoned
Atop the grassy knoll I lie
Though not in slumber I fear.
I am stranded here among the grass…
Cast aside be my owner
And left by them to die.
My color fades;
The cruel doing of the sun, rain, and wind.
While once a brilliant verdant
My color now resembles that of my surroundings;
Dying grass blades.
I once brought great pleasure-
“Wilson 1” proudly plastered across my face-
My bouncing was cavorting,
My spirits high-
But time, ah time stole such light from me,
And gave my owner a new tennis ball for he or she to treasure.
So heed my lesson reader, please I beg you to:
No good thing lasts for ever
No love stays pure and true,
But in this life there will be others to place such value on you.
Like the dog which so happily picked me up, in his mouth to chew.
Blistering heat scorches my silhouette as I cower behind the mighty oak.
His limbs frantically churn outward to absorb the blast.
Martyrdom is his destiny,
I am the cause.
The birds howl amongst themselves-
Marveling at his bravery.
Ephemeral Eulogies bound to become,
No possible way the oak could stand against the mighty sun.
Yet, against all the odds- the oak stands true.
Glaring back at the sun- and sky, so blue.
Blades of grass sway in disbelief.
Worms wriggle to the surface- weary of the commotion.
The oak stands mighty- need no words he say.
No eulogies shall be crafted for him this day-
the Lion grows everywhere but is considered a pest
with its ferocious golden mane, by the sun it is blessed
Its body a straw drinking the nutrients it craves
Fueling the fire above, thus illuminating the blaze