It's funny to be a kid.
Limitless skylines lined with castles
Lurching upward to neverending crystaline sunsets.
A firefighter's dream, or perhaps a teacher's.
"Best Friends" etched in desks and notepads
that get tossed as summer pulls us closer.

Every year the summer pulls us,
And we get old, we stretch out
by many seasons' shapings.
"Where are they now?" the warm breeze asks,
Because, as you see, the seasons shape us
all individually.
Some are tall and sleek,
Some are unkempt and lopsided,
And some, like I, get a nose or something in the wrong spot,
A heart closer to the surface of my skin:
Sensitive and unyielding.

And just as summer pulls us in,
It must in turn pull us away.
For after many seasons' shapings
We're never dreamers of the same kind.