There was a boy, fresher than
eucalyptus oil wafted in Pacific
moist air, free to fly from hill tops
coasting down lizard runs
to turn with licorice sea lions
in breakers of surf or cross
ice caps of Greenland
to alpine valley Swiss lakes
later to bleed his heart in words
along the golden mean for
future generations of his seed.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
December 31, 2013