You see them everyday,
At the rusty playground playing on the crumpled swing set.
That little boy
with his hair tussled just so,
That little girl
watching as the boy soars higher,
how high will he go?
She could never go that high.
Giggles glide over glad faces,
The boy puts his boots in the sawdust to stop,
kicking up dust and mud to get dirty.
She looks at him with wanting wonder,
He looks through her
to the other side of the playground.
The rusty old swing set no longer holds his interest.
Nor, it seems, can she.
The bell rings,
clinging and clanging like an old gong.
He races off.
slowly, looks back at the tired old swing set,
then races off to lag behind the boy that went so high.