top of page
  • Writer's pictureKyx


despite the hot sun,

there always will be tiny feet

pitter-pattering on the street

their owners absorbed in fun

climbing trees

poking hives

surprised that we're still alive

after attacks by bees

buying everything the ice cream shop sells

our scoops drip onto the pavement

we grunt like early cavemen

but cry when our ice cream melts

everywhere we run

no more energy left to keep

overwhelmed by sleep

we curl up in our beds when the playing is done

bottom of page