We rode our princess bikes with strings of beads
Which flowed behind us in November wind
That swept away the dandelion seeds
And dared the winter snowstorms to begin;
And we were heroes, trained for blood and war
Pretending that the trees were evil spies
Our hands destroyed with force and plastic swords
Their fingers grasping at a helpless sky;
But handprints drawn in chalk were washed away
And soon the leaves had fallen from the trees
And hand-me-downs were placed in bins to stay
In sheds with rusty bikes and broken beads.
Beneath the spider webs and wings of moths
Lay truths we labeled Past and left to rot