Adults are not children, that’s not news.

The former are bigger and can untie their shoes,

Walk on paths well-worn well before.

The latter explore much closer to the floor.

Leave it to a child to find a hole in the fence,

Or testing how many meters and cents

Is between the roofs of the neighboring houses

And if you can construct a bridge from blouses.

A bird cherry tree lived where I as well,

I tested every branch, and my mom did yell.

Something about safety, and fracturing bones,

I fell down many times, sometimes on stones.

Not an injury in sight, not counting the scrapes,

While finding out where you can harmlessly traipse,

Where you can clamber, where you can creep,

Where you’re not seen, and where you can sleep.

The bark of a bird cherry is not soft,

But I used it as a bed more than quite oft.

Where am I going? I don’t know.

Exploratory danger made me grow?


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