Honeysuckles

The children loved the old man’s honeysuckles
So much that they would pick the purple flowers
To exhaustion
The old man would holler and shout at the children
While they sucked the honey of his purple flowers
Like it was the eternal milk of their mother’s kindness
And then off they’d run laughing with a flower in each
Of their pretty little mouths

Then one spring day the old man rose early
Took a big sack that lined his hamper and emptied it
Of yesterday’s clothes
And flung that sack up over his shoulder
And stepped out into the morning sun and started walking
With a determined look in his hoary eyes

Soon he came upon a stone that was very large
And he bent down to it and picked it up and
Put it in his sack
Then he found another and another and did the same with them:
He was going to build a stone wall to keep out the children
Who loved to and pick his purple flowers and put them
In their pretty little mouths

The morning sun rose high and it began to get hot
And the old man’s sack was getting fuller and fuller
Stone after stone
Until the sack began to break the old man’s back
Hunching over till his nose dragged along ground
He finally decided to go back home and empty
His heavy load

So he walked and he walked till he came to his mailbox
And said: I will begin to build the wall right here!
And he pointed to his toes
And then he flung that sack from off his tired back
And as soon as he did, he floated right up into the air
Like a weightless balloon