Original Poems

Youthful Passions: Sliding Cardboard Boxes Down Hills

There would be a bunch of us
Half of whom I wouldn’t know
Waiting, flattened box in hand
For our turn to have a go

There was not much to discuss
Unless someone took a spill
And if you should awkward land
You’d just limp back up the hill

Until mealtime we’d abide
In that place, go up and down;
Just past where the woods were cropped
Way out on the edge of town

Kids, all people, love to slide,
Love to jump off swings and fly;
I’m not quite sure when I stopped
I think I’d still like to try

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