The youngest was wily. Climbing, jumping, high and low No one could control his curious side His adventurous spirit, his risk of life. His secret name was Danger. Secret, for no one would halt his fall. His parents shook their heads, His sister washed her hands. He climbed to treetops and screeched with bats Crawled along the ground to slither with the devils Once, in dark water, deep below the Earth He held out his hand and fed dreams to Leviathan. All said that he was not long for the world. Last to enter and first to leave. All said that he walked huddled close to the Reaper Whispering secrets, bumping knees. When he buried his parents, both dead of old age. When his sister passed an old maid of 93. People knew they had been wrong. The youngest was wily you see And living close to death made his life loud, love-filled, and oh, so happily long.
“The Youngest was Wily” was first published in the Winter 2022 issue TYCA-SE Journal.
Beautiful.