The Children: after Patrick Kavanagh by Robert Creeley

Down on the sidewalk recurrent
children’s forms, reds, greens,
walking along with the watching
elders not their own.

It’s winter, grows colder and colder.
How to play today without sun?
Will summer, gone, come again?
Will I only grow older and older?

Not wise enough yet to know
you’re only here at all
as the wind blows, now
as the fire burns low.