rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

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

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