It was bigger than him Smooth heart wood called a walking stick For a three-year-old trying to be older It’s not about walking running Being first down the trail nor about the tangle Of want and need in his legs…
I’m holding a thought in my mouth I’ve got it polished and smooth, and oh it’s hard II the middle like a rock I spotted its glint just behind you In the neighbor’s decorative gravel a confident little sas Calling…
