I Never Had a Treehouse
I never had a Treehouse,
But I remember one who did.
Amazingly enough, that passed me by,
and I never gained that bit of insight for
My youth was spent in many other crazy ways.
Not having a Treehouse meant
not sharing the thrill of falling from
the tree and breaking an arm or leg
like some of my friends at school claimed they did
And Luckily, I never had to get a cast signed.
Not having a Treehouse meant
you could ride your bicycle
and get your pants leg caught in the sprocket,
thereby tearing your jeans from top to toe
and being unable to sit for at least a day.
Not having a Treehouse meant
the lawn would look much better
after you had finished pushing the mower
and oiling the hand shears to trim the curb
But all the while knowing that your math test was Monday.
Not having a Treehouse meant
going to church on Sunday and sitting in the back
row with your friends, But the preacher points
in your direction And Afterwards,
he comes to your house for Sunday dinner.
Not having a Treehouse meant
having to watch your sister while your parents
attended a meeting with your teacher
and discussed your future in class
And Knowing the consequences would not be blissful.
I never had a Treehouse,
But for those of you who did
I share these cautious words of discernment,
My days of adolescence have since went by the way,
And I recall the happy times no matter what I say.
Pete Robertson © March 1998
rancherwriterpoet 