…
Happy children hunted for eggs and went
bursting through the bushes. I’d hurriedly
made them before that unexpectedly
fast, put off for so long in a moment
fun, boiled, dyed and done. Morning’s over.
The afternoon has found a warm bright sun.
Today was many people, now they’re none.
It is only you and me, dear reader
the shadow of the pencil on the page.
Don’t think I’m writing of the tomb. I’m not.
We hid the eggs and kids turned over rocks
or climbed a branch, things we did at their age.
“I’ll see you next year,” one smiling boy said
biting off a yellow marshmallow head.
…
…