By: Gerard Valencia
Copyright © MrV (Christian Valencia-Vasquez)
Pick up your swing off the fallen tree branch,
rise to the top of class--the name they applaud,
the shirt from last winter you have outgrown,
walking the stage under a rain of caps,
half of your life's worth in your hand.
Wails of birth, cheers of joy, silence of midlife fork,
From noon to midnight the bells tool,
speeding away under a roof of cotton clouds,
little children always grow old--look into the mirror,
until the last breath wisps out cold.