Summer lovely wind
rumpled the tall grass.
Brothers and sister ran
with coupled laughter after,
Eating lunch
under a creaky sour-speaking apple tree.
Hide and seek for hours while happy screaming,
Childish meaning under the blue-sky
threats and promises,
Mawkish and infantile,
through thistly, bristly green and bladed walls.
A hidden spot
quiet and guarded
in darkness,
While a busy bumble bee
noisily worked
gathering yellow pollen.
Too close
in the bee’s humming workroom.
A whistling stinger
an adolescent shout,
a kiddish cry through the grass.
A mother’s soft words,
a measured check for a stinger.
All better with happy, sappy sighs.
“Uh-oh.”
A purple belly of booming thunder.
Hospital clatter
after parent’s chatter.
From purple bruises,
to red vehicle screeches,
to white hospital walls
and bright lights.
A whistling shot of a needle,
a shout,
a cry from a faraway time.
Upon a timid return,
the grass would be safe,
through careful study and lessons.
Only moments passed,
running free,
back at it like the busy bumble bee.
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