Song

Rita Dove (EEUU, 1952- )

When I was young, the moon spoke in riddles
and the stars rhymed. I was a new toy
waiting for my owner to pick me up.

When I was young, I ran the day to it's knees.
There were trees to swing on, crickets for capture.

I was narrowly sweet, infinitely cruel,
tongued in honey and coddled in milk,
sunburned and silvery ans scabbed like a colt.

And the world was already old.
And I was older than I am today.