Children of Spring


Children of spring. laughing. calling to one another.
Running and playing between the trees.
Stopping now. darting. squealing.
The earth trembles with your laughter bouncing from the clouds.

I am sad for you because it will not last.
In a flicker your spring will be gone with only brief rememberances
being the key to your springtime.
You will remember one day, perhaps two, or perhaps a few more
vividly enough to be called a memory.

But we will remember: your mother and I.
We are the storehouse of your memories.
Somehow you won't remember the events we treasure most.
At least not the way we remember them.

We will relive them for you at every birthday.
We will view a part of you in uncountable children we see.

For it is through you we can once again be children of spring.

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