Those bright, young things that shine and shimmer with perfume and pizzazz.
They heap their flowing compliments upon the world in an effusive gush.
They flower and prose with perfect hair and smiles that shower glee.
They pout and pose their youth for all to see.
And I sit here thinking to myself that maybe I can’t show that kind of life.
I stutter and pause when the keyboard keys leap up at me with plod and twee.
I grumble and gree to see the tree of forgetful thought and seldom plaus(ible).
I mash my words against twisted tongue and gum.
They and I are of a piece.
They don’t always wise.
I don’t always wild.
Between us we are gravity and sun.
From one to the next we anchor and bask.
We bright wild brains so old and vain with flight of plain speech try
To pull the one from the other side without seeming to fall in-between.
We old wise minds so young and free with shiny words of precious glee
Drag guards across our seldom met and do it anyway.