Photo credit : Me
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As a kid, I broke my finger
Playing baseball at this field;
Just the sort of age eleven
Mishap sports will tend to yield
Also used to play the organ
At the church there on the right;
Age fifteen’s so long ago that
Even memory’s
Black and white
A great shot for contrasts of many kinds, but the one I first thought of was how there’s always many stone steps leading up from the world to the church, and that it’s far easier to run down them. A great poem, too, for reminding us of its hidden truth — that both 11 and 15, worlds apart and worlds ago, are quite present, still, in today’s little teardrop, be it happy or sad.