He walks down the street
Where he sees shadows
Of the woods that watched him
As an edgy adolescent
How the brown of trees
Would colour his hair
And the earth welcomed his feet
That ran bare, unafraid
Leading young guns to their den
Away from the world of grown up men.
There they would plot and plan
Treasure hunts and mock chases
Eager minds, exuberant faces
Befriended the lion and the hare
Unaware of all worldly snares.
They sped away as age chased them
While the world ran around time
Both caught in rigmaroles
Although of different kinds.
Now there are no woods
Where he used to stray.
A few trees, dry and withered
Stand out against the cloudy gray.
He looks at himself and sees
His locks drop over his brow no more
As if years had turned into shears
And time has sifted out his peers
All dispersed by the wind
Now stand tall on different stones
They’ve come of age, they’ve almost grown.