NaPoWriMo 6/4/16: Seven-League Boots

Once more I am a child on Grandma’s lawn,

Slitting the stems of the daisies and buttercups,

The green juice under my nails.

I thread them alternately, one by one,

For the chain must be long and contain

Both silver and gold.


I have seven-league boots.

I am looking out over the hills,

And when I grow up I will stride out over

Those green and simple miles.


But the sun goes in,

And inside me something fails.

If I should go, then who will mirror me?

If they forget, what homecoming can there be?

And the lawn becomes a prison, the hills the bars,

And the world becomes as far away

As Mars.

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