Under a tree that we climbed when we were children.
The tree will say
“Here are the children who perched like birds the whole day to eat my fruit.”
At the river whose bank we used to build sand figures.
The sand will say
“Here are the children who tap and slap me to look stunning.”
At the crossroad where we departed to where our bikes agreed to go.
The road will say
“Here are the children who noisily negotiated which place to visit”.
Once again before the next once-again.
The rendezvous will say
“Here are the children who have refused to lose excitement in life and continued to be young in heart,
Even when age has taken some muscles away.”
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