The wind whistles through the grass,
dancing with the memories of those who have
The brances hit one another,
like a xylophone,
as Boy climbs through them.
Songs that were sung long ago
echo in the throats of birds.
Boy's Mother calls to him,
through the dusty barn,
where the sweet smell of alfalfa is strongest.
The empty halls of the delapidated house,
are denied the bounding laughter.
Boy follows his Mother's calls
running and laughing
until it ends.
The bursting barn is empty,
except for a translucent body,
whose laughter hangs in the air,
waiting for the unheard scream.