All of the girls are growing up
So quickly that we didn't notice it
Until just recently, when they began
To speak of boys we haven't met.
No longer do we have a front row seat
In the classroom or on outings,
To judge for ourselves the character
Of those considered worthy—
We hear the stories secondhand
And gather our impressions as we can.
Now and then, like trim boats on a lake
With unfurled sails on colourful display,
Two or more of them will draw together
To spend the time in a different way
Than once upon a pleasant playground
Full of noise and active disarray.
Something solid in familiar faces
Brings an ease to the proceedings;
No one needs to be a stranger
When it's easy to remember early days.
©2016 Michael Fraley
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