Baubles

I saw a child, through tear-dimmed eyes

Behold its runaway balloon

Go sailing off through cloudless skies,

Away, away, to meet the moon.

I knew the sorrow that had gripped

Its torn and throbbing little breast

As though its hand the bauble slipped

And floated off into the west.

And yet there was an ecstasy

To watch the pretty vagrant go,

A fleck of color, flying free

On summer winds that lift and blow.

I thought of baubles I did toss

On trailing fillets spun of gold;

Gray memories that flit across

the twilight vision of the old.

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)