A little after mid October
…a healthy baby boy born
Into the middle of autumn
when green leaves turn prettier
…the air crisp and time slows
He…such a sensitive child
…fully open, aware and knowing
Saw beauty in ant mounds and
…wanted to fly like eagles soar
Flew kites made from tied branches
…with paper bags and rags for tails
Rode bikes built from odd parts
…played games with free abandon
He’s of sensitive soul, a good heart
…wrote poetry for pretty teen girls
A bottle spun…came his first kiss
…daydreamed too often for some
A man on life’s bumpy road
…stopping to smell wildflowers and
still contemplating the beauty of stars
Writing poetry about grownup things
…sensitive to the harmony of…living*
Jon` B. Crenshaw
Libra’s Son
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