Saturday, November 15, 2014


Photograph: Tim Laman/Getty images
I was a boy when trees were tall
and I could climb with ease.
High in the limbs though I was small
At home in tops of trees.

This space did not require a friend
Was not a place to share,
How to climb up or to descend,
Only to say beware.

Up there were stories of my mind,
A novelist was I.
I the hero, the dazzling kind
With empires in the sky.

All stories end and so did mine,
Not wasted time at all,
A bold step to maturity,
When childhood trees were tall.

© Ron Unruh, November 14, 2014

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