Shall we through this tall grass run, children
heed the urgency of crickets this early morning,
outrun meandering trodden trails we'd make?
or await to pack our baskets
with late summer peaches picked
after sun shakes dew from waning leaves of her laden tree
life is measured in those quick steps
the insects said,
scattering ashes of the dead never teaches them to fly
much as we might try, but we might yet
they know winter's shadow always too soon arrives,
an uninvited guest in this meadow