(Two Poems)


May and December

Young people are carefree, impatient for fun;

They race with time - hop, skip and run.

They're like the merry month of May,

Trying to do everything all in one day.

They forget that I was young once, too,

Doing all the things they do.

Age is December - winter just slows;

Things take longer and patience grows.

Bones are tired; some things I forget;

Just give me time - I'll remember them yet.

Memories are stored in my winter heart;

I'd love to share them with spring's work of art.

Whether May or December a smile is still a smile,

And running or walking, we'll meet in awhile.

Take my hand and sit by my side;

Tell me your stories; I'll listen with pride.


Joan Adams Burchell

(copyright)


* * *

Yesterday
Head tossed back, hair blowing in the breeze,
Feet skipping along as carefree as you please.
I remember - can't they see
That only yesterday this was me?

Joan Adams Burchell

(copyright)
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