Because I am only 3,

white lillies activate their revitalized limbs

and spring

from their secure, underground homes.

Squirrels lope like enlivened marathoners

at the burst of a shotgun.

Parents convoy their spirited kids to the community park

where the juveniles diligently mingle with their friends

on the tire swing

and grown-ups rationally examine who-knows-what.

A frail gust forces my sister Kai's blonde hair over her eyes...

The lillies have deconstructed,

disappointed, defeated, disintegrating.

Now solely crysanthemums can be deduced.

Squirrels anxiously assemble an army of acorns,

in a race against the approaching, aggressive, agonizing temperatures.

Guardians relay children abroad

where these pupils are trained to be proper products of:

modern day society.

Kai's sun-kissed hair- now rapidly darkening- is fastened

with a black bow.

I am not three anymore.