When I was wee boy I sat for hours in fields drawing birds,
though every bird I drew always looked the same,
except for swans that is,
but then I could never draw a swan.
When I was a teenager I sat for hours in fields composing
what I took to be poetry, or at least a type of art,
except that words and meaning often escaped me,
my vocabulary being limited to what I could think of.
When I was a young man I sat for hours in fields kissing girls
or dreamt of kissing girls and holding hands whilst
synchronizing our breathing and
laughing at nothing, of course.
When I am very old I will sit for hours in a field and picture the birds
I have known, shading them in from a kaleidoscope of colors,
collected over a lifetime of good times,
so that each may perch on a branch of memory.