The Blue Sun

The seats of bikes both gather dust,
Toys and dolls their hair once trussed,
Colored chalk from sidewalks clean,
The thief of time for all that’s been,

Youthful buds soon bloomed, now gone,
Where once your prints and kiss belonged,
From scattered dreams your shapes appear,
In fives, then tens of passing years,

Were golden times when you were young,
Two dancing girls in sunshine sung,
As snowmelt turns to winter white,
Memories blurred by frost on ice,

Cross rooms of dark your shadows lean,
The pain of quiet midnights bring,
Yet reassured to see you grown,
Surrounded by your littles own.