“There Is in Children,” Ensign, June 1989, 35
There Is in Children
There is in children an inexorable mockery.
They step with my step
to the same brittle music
played out by time.
And their pleasures multiply
(like mine).
The sun glistens on their limbs.
Even the winter longs to stay
on their sweet breath.
As their days fall like dappled dominoes
touching each other
into unsettled repose
I taste their laughter
in the tongue of my throat.
And upward, behind my eyes,
I hear the range of their voices
in tears I have held
since I could do no more
with time.