Yearning
I yearn for the sun and the sky
Where birds larking about sing and fly
Twisting their mosaic silver wings, to and fro
The moon so high yet close, the ground so far below
I yearn for the gravelly, hardpapered sand
Stretching with bumps and rocks-mishappen land
As it laps greedily the oceans’s salty gift
With even the lightest touch, its foundations shift
I yearn for the trees-their boughs a great embrace
Crying in the tremendous, rooting storm it must face
Always to be battered, worn and stagnant
Yet still it stands tall-an impenetrable magnet
I yearn to be an old man-fragile yet wise
Who smiles at frigid death, the shadowed demise
Pitying the young, guiding souls with laughing eyes
Whispering a mumbled prayer, for their rash let sighs
I yearn to be a child, awe struck and kind
Making mistakes, seeing after being blind
Each baby step growing with each tiny made cut
To be stuck, but to leave, from the dependency rut
I yearn to be a person, where justice runs hot
Who feels immortal, then realizes they’re not
Who feels the time slip like the sand, the chilly breeze
Who laughs with death, gazing as the horizon meets the sea.
By Regina Maricich ‘29, Staff Writer
