Poetry & Prose



Does youth spring quickly from the bud,
Thirst quenched by a mother’s blood?
And does it bloom before it rots
As flowering forget-me-nots?

Does it grow and die between the hills
Entwined in weeds and daffodils?
Or sprout in long and crooked lines
Through prairie grass and pumpkin vines?

Is it reaped and bundled into sheaves
With yellowed stems and cracking leaves?
Bound by wire, spun by spool
Tied up and parceled out by rule?

Does youth go quickly as it seems
As water rushing down the streams?
Withering as age unfolds
As broken stalks of marigolds?