Where is that little boy?
The one I saw riding down the grassy hill.
I saw him look down that hill,
Summon courage, gauge the drop,
Judge the moment before he might be lost.

Was he lost?
I saw him make the run,
The spokes of his bicycle flashing in the sun.
Twice he ran the hill, sharp right and
Sped along the river as if he could not be lost.

Was he lost?
While I was gone did he go?
Tell me no, though I know
Boys grow to be men
Not far from loss.


© 2016