Summer, Age 12

We waved off our middle child today,

All pink and rosy and full

Of bounce.

Or, not so much bounce, what with carrying a backpack

Cram-jammed full for a week of fun

In the sun and the dirt and the green.

And in

A week we’ll pick her up again,

Sunburned, dirt-scarred,

Still, no doubt, rosy

And smiling.

Seven nights under canvas,

Seven days filled end-to-end

And top to bottom

With climbing trees,

Building rafts and making friends.

This is the stuff lifetimes are made of

In the height of summer,

Aged 12.

Just a poem I wrote after Fluff went off to camp this morning. It’s not a great poem, but it has within it what I wanted to say and it’s a start on the road back to writing šŸ™‚

5 thoughts on “Summer, Age 12

  1. Yeah!! You’re writing poetry! I’m proud of you for stepping out and doing this. I especially liked the phrase “dirt-scarred”; I don’t think I’ve run across that phrase before but it vividly describes what a happy camper will (and should) look like. šŸ™‚

    • Thank you for your encouragement, Laura. It genuinely gave me the courage to give it a go. Not that this poem is anything much – just a five-minute thing, but it’s a start šŸ™‚

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