That summer through, all unaware,
Your pale feet raced across the grass;
You loped the hay-soft orchard path.
Your lean long legs were always bare.
A little printed shift you'd wear,
So brief that when you jumped the fence,
Or swung on limbs, at any chance,
You'd show too much, all unaware.
Your blue eyes with their owlet's stare,
Would give an instant's audience
Before you'd shrug or pull a face
Or laugh, just laugh, without a care.
One day you bent to frown at where
Sly red was snaking down your thigh,
Then smeared it with a careless swipe
And dashed away, all unaware.
That fall, your aunts put up your hair
And bothered over scabby knees,
And sat you at the vanity,
Explained what fresh young curves must bear.
Summer returns, with days as fair,
But not, I think, wild Eve's allure,
Or any laugh that's just a laugh,
Or maiden’s glance, all unaware.
Copyright ©
Walter Donway, all rights reserved