boy oh boy

boy oh boy

then spring came carrying frog spawn;

tadpoles to count the summer of days 

stained on grassed knees, red grazed and 

smeared by the sap of the sun-long ways; 

blissfully unaware that he was amazed

when his footsteps trod the ages of all 

boys that ride the corking sun rocket,

stirring the pollen stars to wild abandon

in the golden meadows of his mind. 

many were the keepsakes of his pocket,

plundered of the ransacked day; 

strung of the secrets be-known, says he,

but to a few, flared in nostril, daring-do,
on the edge of the precipice of that first 
homward step, wild on vagabond dust

loading the turnups of tomorrow’s trousers.