A Memory

May 8, 2009
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Poetry hides in the small, loud creaks of the swings,
The openings of birds spreading their wings,
Even in the way the whistling wind sings -
A slight howl.

Poetry hides in those blades of green,
It hides in the way kids run and scream.
Hidden between the bounce of handballs,
Shouting with the sounds of stomping basketballs.

Poetry's peeking through the slight sprinkle of water fountains,
In the sudden storm that starts to drizzle,
Or soda that has freaky fizzles.
Poetry hides even in the tiniest tear of a toddler -
With sand in his eyes.

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