We’re thirteen, almost fourteen,
And so much in love
We want the years to pass—
Clouds roll at super speed, rains fall,
Flowers unfold and die at the snap
Of our fingers. I want to stuff sand
Through a fat hourglass,
And rip the pages from the calendar.
Let me blow candles from my cake.
Let my puppy stretch to full size.
When we turn eighteen,
Time will become a canoe on a still lake.
Clod & Pebble 