Sunday, September 22, 2013

Thirteen Days

Day one. Breathe electric air and smile
The second day: you climb upon a chair.
By three you're stacking blocks in tiny piles.
Four, you're zipping up and down the stairs.

Day five. A corner office boasts your nameplate,
So travel every continent on six.
On seven, snare your sweetheart. Say it's fate.
The eighth day, buy a lake house just for kicks.

Day nine. You'll raise a child of your own.
Come ten, relax. Enjoy your golden years.
On day eleven: write your lessons down.
By twelve, you're missed. There's laughter. There are tears.

Remember me those moments in-between
Until we reunite on Day Thirteen.


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