I won’t let you do what they have done.
Stuff the impervious self under concretes
of pernicious gray maturity, no.
You will walk on the tips of your delicate toes,
a ballet dancer under the trance of sinful music.
You will laugh loudly, happily, madly when the
unannounced rain drenches you, coldly.
Your spirit is the sun’s song on a beautiful summer
day. Spy on the bees, steal their honey and run
home under your heart’s loud melody.
The years shall force you up the ladder of death,
but you will never, never die while you live under
the provocative mind of youth.
© 2011 Jane Odartey