I would see her run again,
chase again her schoolyard toys,
back lot fancies, idolled boys.
If I were bold and she were young again,

I would violate the code,
leave the ball field, leave the lake,
leave the bats and poles, forsake
it all to be near her. Then we would run

all the hours of days ago.
Scatter birds and watch them fly,
dance the fences, swim the rye
would we. How wrong the handiwork of time.

I will never see her run,
never chase her at her play.
Now she walks that crooked way
so bent above a hostile, angry earth.

I would see her run again,
flee this age which shackles me,
bound to brave world wizardry,
and humbles her. So out of time are we.