when I was a young boy bolder than sky

when I was a young boy bolder than sky
running kite like with winds billowing high
I like the pale rye on a summer gone to grave
knew not of the talon timed creeping wave
rolling careless days in sigh lullaby rows
with no dim child molested warrior crows

a girls skin scent of reed lake water down deep
with the solace of trees falling into ritual sleep
I once stood naked on a far field with cows glaring
biked nettled and happily fed by my young days daring
drilling holes in changing rooms with bells eye tolling
I was wet hand bright moor reeking and try rolling




Poetry by Bob
Read 583 times
Written on 2016-01-14 at 18:30

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This made me smile at just reading the title, then I was impressed by your words, as always, and I thought of the boy who was bolder than the sky, and again I smiled because I see the man who is still bolder than the sky.:)
Love your writing.
Ashe
2016-01-15