Free!
Free!
School's out.
Through the door
nine rowdy boys burst,
and then it's a sprint to the field –
tugging, pushing, pulling, all set on getting there first.
Birds
chirp.
Bugs buzz.
The world sings.
Life's a cheerful song.
"Snap the whip," one of them shouts.
"Let's play crack the whip." Hands join and soon the fun begins.
Shoes
off,
fingers
interlocked,
round and round they reel,
blades of grass between their toes,
blue and white flowers in bloom trampled under their heels.
Cares
faults
worries
and hassles
gone while they spin,
gone while they snap the whip again,
a few boys just messing around, dizzy and happy.
Play
Play.
Nine boys
reaping joy
from a silly game,
sun splashed on their carefree faces,
and the lush green mountains near, resounding boyhood's glee.
One
boy
falls, then
another:
two boys on the end.
Both grab their hats; both brush their knees.
"Snap the whip," seven of them shout,
and while they turn, some reach out, bend down and grab their friends.
"Crack ... "
"Snap . . ." –
voices
of children –
nine boys playing an endless game
by a small red schoolhouse, their whip cracking and snapping.
Weeks –
months –
years pass.
They are men
with memories that
bring them all back to a verdant field
where blithe boys are joining their hands and whirling again.
