Among my daughter's friends are just a few
Already turning coltish, singled out
By growing up, to wear an ancient hue
Of spring, and future. Still they play, and pout
Like children. As they should, and as they are.
But days continue on, meand'ring by,
And spring itself, that once had seemed so far,
Will bring its aching hope to heart, and eye,
And I will ache to see them drawn together,
As children choose the hearts that they will tether.


Salon.com
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