French Meadows - Kathleen Bechtold

Where the Light Goes - Kathleen Bechtold

Can I Have Some Cocoa? - Kathleen Bechtold

I put on my good-weather hat,

and that was that.

I put on my having-fun gloves,

and so it was.

I put on my longish socks

and there was a girl with longish locks

who pointed me to a longish box

with my favorite winter grin

tucked down inside, stuffed in.

I tied it up in my nice-day scarf,

and brought it along to the snowy park

where cold men stand like works of art-

oh, they and I have a long romance

with lots of words and little dance,

but when the evening got too old

and my feet were all wet and cold,

I put on my teleport-to-your-house-for-a-hug-and-a-mug-of-hot-cocoa shoes,

and I tied them up! And who knew:

the wind blew, and I flew- all true-

that's how come I'm here, with you.

At the Bus Stop - Kathleen Bechtold

In summer, we'd catch FireFlies in milk jugs

and build forts in the woods, and fort-ify them,

so we could have rock-throwing wars and maybe win

and always bruise and usually have fun.

When the grass got long enough to hide in, we'd dig

GIANT dinosaur nests and mazes for bugs and then

we'd always forget and fall in them when playing cops and robbers.

I'm older, now- it's winter,

and the FireFlies are gone

and the leaves are gone and the forts are gone and the dinosaurs are bones

and it hasn't snowed enough for snowball fights, not really.

But, I still wheeze cold winter breath, and pretend I'm a dragon:

dragons don't grow up.