The innocence of youth has flown this nest
To time and place not to be recovered,
Time has moved on, always to the west
Where things once learned can’t be rediscovered.
We’ll never learn to ride a bike again
Nor will the arm forget the way to throw;
The awkwardness the body felt at ten
Is long since past with few scars to show.
Even the things I don’t remember learning
Cannot be brought to new fruition;
Things such as crawling, talking and walking
Can all be performed without attention.
But one thing I learn anew, one above
All else: the height and depth of mother’s love.
2003
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