july 8, 2003
"So Peach," they ask, "how old are you?"|
And I know what they'd hear;
She'd tell them all the month and day,
Whilst leaving out the year.
"How old is she?" they then ask me
And hope that I will tell.
They all assume that I must know
Because I know her well.
And all the while I nod and smile,
As silent as a tree,
Imagining the burning grove
Of candles there would be.
"Ask me again, I'll tell you when..."
Now smiling to myself,
"...I met her and I learned a friend's
The greatest sign of wealth."
Reflecting back on three short months,
I still don't even know
If I could say I saw one day
How fast this close we'd grow.
Our birthdays seem like times to brood
Though many times we're told
That youth is just a state of mind
We still might think we're old.
"Not once did it occur to me;"
I'd say and it'd be true
If she asked me if she might be,
"That word's just not for you."