Friday, March 14, 2008

An Older Poem

This one, in a much lighter vein than most I've posted before, I wrote when I was maybe twelve or thirteen, inspired by a delightful dream. (Who hasn't had that longing at least once?)

I Can Fly!

This morning when I woke up,
I had a funny feeling;
I jumped from bed and suddenly
I floated toward the ceiling;
And then I realized what was up
And felt quite queer – oh my!
Because, you see, peculiarly,
I found that I can fly!

Oh boy, but I was happy!
Quick as you blink an eye,
I soared right out the window,
Into the sunlit sky.
I spun about among the trees
So high above the ground,
I felt that I could clear the sun
And moon with just one bound!

I soared into a cloud of fog
And whizzed back down again;
I flew back in my window then,
And dressed and flew again.
I had my breakfast in a flash,
And then away I flew,
And all the people that saw me
Were startled this to view.

I flew about the town all day,
But got home to have meals,
And then I went back to the clouds
And danced Virginia reels.
And as I fall asleep tonight,
I’ll think with mirth so high,
“Tomorrow I can start once more,

For – golly! – I can fly!”

5 comments:

crusader88 said...

That is from when you were twelve or thirteen? My, I have forgotten what beautiful imaginations we have when we are at that age. If only I had started my poetry then rather than when I was fifteen or so.

Rocio C. said...

Ah, the dreams of the young... I prayed to be able to fly every Christmas until I was nine or ten.

Agnes Regina said...

Oh my goodness... you did that too? Actually, Crusader, it may even have been earlier; I guessed about that age, but I'm not sure. I've been writing (or attempting to write) since I was six or seven.

Familia de Erausquin (la auténtica) said...

As a matter of fact, I guess it was earlier... four or five. But at that moment you was so busy beating your little brother that you had little time for writing.

Agnes Regina said...

Oh, be quiet, Tio Alvaro... Was I really writing poems that early?