Poetry in a Teenager’s Brain

We were pulling out of our driveway this morning on the way to Band, and our dog came around the corner of the yard to watch us go.

My fourteen year old, baritone horn player said, “She looks so sad when we leave. Look at her eyes. They remind me of the inevitability of death.”

Mr. Quiet Beast

A three year old girl I know said something at dinner that made me wonder if we were all great poets when we were children:

Max is my brother. Our mommy’s name is Running Bear and our daddy’s name is Mr Quiet Beast. We make snow necklaces and paint rocks and give them as very special surprise presents to all the people. The people say thank you to us and love us.