sidewalk cracks and jumping jacks
exploring our backyards
overalls and backpacks
making houses out of cards
when we fell down we stood right up
because six-year-olds can't die
so when Ruth wasn't at assembly
we never wondered why
we figured she was sick
had a fever or a cough
she'd be better really quick
she just needed some time off
But Ruth never showed up that year
or the year after that
They told us that she moved away
We knew that wasn't fact
Because Tommy saw something
a familiar satin bow
right under the climbing tree
where young Ruth used to go.
The tallest branch must have
been at least twenty feet high
and to a six-year old that's
high enough to try to fly
But flying's meant for angels
not for children on a bough
and Ruth's no longer on that tree
no
she's
much higher
now.
At first this was going to about childhood but it turned a bit dark. I don't really write rhyming poems, but tell me what you think!