Let’s walk on the tree-lined boulevard.

Football season.

I don’t care for sports but you do

and I care for you.

Life gave us short change 

on a summer’s day.

Then in the fall,

a key thrown past a post

but I cut the field goal.

I dream of yesterday

dressed like a king

crowned by yew trees.

Your pinkie near mine

a promise owed to time.

The walk is a winding road 

leading to the start

with no end goal 

or throne of gold.

You fade like a breeze between teeth.

Noble wins belong to you, not me.

I, once a gem,

return to the path like a pebble,

And now, 

only the trees remember our story.