We walk on the narrow curb,
Holding our arms out for balance,
Because this town doesn't have sidewalks.
We look like little kids
Imitating airplanes.
The sun is our compass;
Somehow you know which way to go.
And I follow you,
Always so trusting,
Because after all:
Don't you have all the answers?
Then you turn around and smile,
And the wind chases in your hair,
And the shadows play hide and seek
Across your face.
There are secrets in your eyes,
And I want to know them all.
Then we sit down in the grass
With the sun wrapped around us.
We are angels,
Bright and happy
For a change.
We trace poetry into the dirt,
Your hands twisting around the blades of grass
Gently,
Not tugging them out like I do.
And the only thought
That runs through my mind is:
Why are you so much better than me?
The hyacinths and the daffodils
Whisper their jokes to us.
Are we the only ones who can hear?
While the rest of the world is so serious
You're the only one
I'd want to be a child with again.
)
I've got to be honest- at first, I was positive that the poem would end in the 'you' of the poem being run over by a car. You know, there are no sidewalks to walk of, so they had to walk on the street or the curb, and then he turned around...yeah, that's what I was expecting. That said! I'm glad you didn't go that route. It would have been way too easy to fall into that option of depression, and there aren't enough happy-hearted poems anymore! 
So terribly sorry.
