We climbed the lookout tower
that Daddy built, hugged a
branch of the Mulberry Tree,
ate its purple berries,
sat barefoot stringing beads
on a blanket in the yard
under watchful nose of Mrs. Ross's
maid, then dripped
chocolaty pudding pops, cooled our-
selves in the water from the hose
or the wading pool,
where Michael leaned to swim--
knit together, purled to a daisy chain,
living our days in the
pinkest shades of clover--
so that later roaming the hills
near the Cabin next to Spring River,
we clambered over
sloping limestone rocks and
small, blue cedars, and we knew
why Mum had said, "One can, all can"
is the only fair way, among siblings.
|