SPRING

I allowed my existence to be forgotten
as I sunk into the small bud I once was,
remembering the springtime of childhood.
Spent in the boughs of apple trees
with a friend.
That was our kingdom, where shoes were a disgrace
and clean knees sparing lines of green never lasted.
The smell of dirt, the sting of a scratch,
the taste of the milk-white ends of grass
accompanied our simple symphony of laughter