Across the street I hear them. Kids at play.
Doubling up with belly laughs. Every day.
Sometimes I wonder what it's all about.
One, especially, laughs out in a shout.
I crane out of my window, hope to see
the one that's always chuckling, full of glee.
I see a red-haired youngster, all alone,
trying to catch a wrapper that's wind-blown.
He's giggling loudly, dashing after it,
holds himself with both hands, in a fit,
infectious laughter streaming out of him,
rushing round the courtyard on a whim.
The wrapper's coyly keeping from his grasp,
the little kid is panting, stops to gasp,
lets out one more loud laugh, then runs on,
till the wrapper wafts up, and is gone.
The little kid falls limply to the ground,
in yelps his bubbly laughter falls around,
the area where he's playing's is aglow
-- I hope this little kid will never grow.