I am eight years old, my friend is ten, <br />the sky is billions and azure blue, <br />we are walking to St Bees and the beach, when, <br />suddenly a skylark soars piping his tune so true. <br />We watch and listen as the tiny bird, <br />in undulating flight trills his lovely song, <br />it is like nothing else that we have ever heard, <br />and he keeps singing for joy as we continue along <br />the narrow country lane down to the sea, <br />where all day we'll explore the rocky shore and weedy fronds, <br />knowing that there will doubtless be, <br />myriads of strange creatures in their salty ponds. <br /> <br />I am fifty seven, my friend is fifty nine, <br />his health is not so good, but he battles on, <br />myself, I am feeling mostly fine, <br />although the best years have now gone. <br />The sky is billions and a bit, and sometimes it is blue, <br />and as I drive along the still narrow lane <br />towards St Bees where skylarks once flew, <br />the only thing flying in the sky is a tiny silver plane, <br />and the only sounds come from engine noise, and BBC Radio Two. <br /> <br />Down on the beach the rocky pools and seaweed fronds, <br />all are clearly still there, <br />but there are not so many animals in their salty ponds, <br />did they just vanish into thin air? <br />Or is it perhaps that I can no longer see, <br />through these older, more tired eyes, <br />the same things I saw when I was young and free, <br />when with every new day I would unwrap a different surprise?<br /><br />Tom Higgins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/two-little-boys-and-one-tiny-bird/
