Generation Gap

She claims a yard of sunset
for her skirt, a gallon of ocean
pale in the morning light
for her ruffled shirt
and there, dangling at her throat,
the moon hangs on a string
glad for its station.

A swarm of stars sparkles
in her hair, a drop of dew glistens
at each ear.  When she opens up
her mouth to sing, we learn
a nightingale is living there,
but in her eye a hint of tear
because time just moves too slow
for one with things to do, places to go.

From my eye a splash of tear
for how time flies and where.
I want her first white shoes
to fit again.  Turn back time
to those days when life
was one big lollipop poem.
Bring back the goldfish
from that final flush.

Put the training wheels
back on her bike,
Take the clock in hand.
slow it down
slow it down

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