|Photograph: Tim Laman/Getty images|
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