Wistfulness

Childhood ends, so they say,
but as long as I can lounge
in the arms of my favorite
tree...the great big one that
was always easy to climb,
where the bark was rubbed
smooth in just the right spots...
and listen to the migrating geese
(on the move once more)
while studiously catching every drip
of Nanny's hand-cranked ice cream
in those next-best-thing-to-cardboard
cones they sold up at the market,
as long as I can do that, if nothing
else, then I can be a child forever.