Non-Rhyming Poem

This poem is by my younger daughter, written when she was probably just about 9.

The wings of birds,
like leaves on trees,
falling down onto rivers of life,
like snow on a winter day.
Gently, almost like flowing,
like a river,
like a lily pad gently on flowing water.
Like animals playing roughly together,
tugging on a branch, happily, running.
Like floating,
like laughing kids on a summer day.

Eat the Summer

I will eat the summer
like a peach
and keep the stone
when I am done
within my reach
and as autumn pilfers
light from day
that seed alone
all else undone
I'll hide away
so when winter renders
orchards bare
as twisted bone
and kills the sun
and fills the air
I can throw the stone back
toward the spring
and when it's grown
birds one by one
will start to sing.

March 19 2013

Winter 2013

My god the road is made of iron
all give of summer gone
beneath the weight of ice
fanatic snowflakes fall to add to
along the potholed way.
They'll never fix it now till Spring
brings this darkened hemisphere
a little nearer to the sun,
but that is miles away,
in another town than Winter,
and much too far to walk.

March 9 2013