swing me round;
we’d have played ball.
hold me up so i won’t fall.
i guess that’s not really my call
cuz i already have.
blue and green and brown and gold
oh ye who are one year more old
this air doesn’t seem quite so cold
when you are holding my hand
we are fascinated with sunsets.
today i was helping him study poems, for a test, for a class, that is tomorrow…
and we read one (i forgot who it is by) called expostulations and response,
or something like that.
& in the poem the friend told the writer – get up! and stop dreaming. pick up your books and leave this rock and solitude
and the writer says listen…
be up, up, and listen to these birds
because i will learn more from just sitting here than i ever will from a wise man or the words of us
it’s snowy here
here where i live
when i walk home at night it’s often falling but
even when it’s not,
glitter. glitter in snow, glitter is snow
and i am amazed
why am i amazed that this snow looks so similar to something we have in life,
used in our craft projects, spilled on our nails,
when all the time, the snow was there first? it’s always been glittering
our crafts are the imitators of the real thing
that falls from the sky
left in the sky
to drift away as we wait for night
we are fascinated by color that comes every night of our lives
that we don’t always get to see
but that we could never replicate
(the poem: i looked it up. it is called expostulation and reply, by william wordsworth)