Poem: Mother, why?

Springtime, butterflies-

But mother, why?

I look out at pale blue skies-

Eye on the horizon, a glorious prize;

Awaits me, I sense it coming-

A burning yearning for more days-

I shall not always be young.

Hair braided, falls at the sides-

But mother, why?

 

Looking past the ponds and lakes near home-

I have laid a stake in the green green grass-

I bypassed pastures, rolling hills I have captured-

On a camera.  Eighteen now, and very fast-

The time has passed.  It flies-

But mother, why?

 

Passing through thirty like a light breeze;

Forty and Fifty hit me with ease;

They sing to me from the ruin-scaped trees;

The ruins of a childhood nested by the butterflies,

And the bees, yet all this time, I marveled at the pale sky;

I am alive.

But mother, why?

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