Tall Ships

Tall ships and boats
Docked,
Moored and await.
Masts held high
Like second grade
Children
Sitting in neat rows
Hands held high
Crying, "Pick me!
Pick Me!"

To Be Young

He often dreams of her
In his sleep he hears her call.
He turns and tries to find comfort
In a bed not of his making.
She calls and he hopes
Wanting, deep in his dreams
To wake up and go in search of her.
She waits in the twilight of memories
Golden skin and sun bright hair
Eyes deep blue stare into his
When he sleeps.

Many years have passed
Since they shared their love.
He is no longer the slim boy
With hair long and wild.
His hair is shorter now
Going grey and not looking back.

She remains the girl that he loved
He can see every detail of her now
Even the gossamer, golden hairs
On her arm as she reaches to touch him.
Oh, that he could run into that dream
And live forever in that place
With that lovely mountain gal.
Not that life isn't good,
Nor even that he isn't happy.

Like every man,
He would be young once more.