Long shadows dip into the swirling buckets of blue,
The darkened trees reach up and paint the sky,
And a beautiful cyan urfurls into navy,
I see childhood marbles in the shades,
Rolling over thread-bare carpets,

And striking fast and true on scattered glass between,
My father grafted memories so,
From when he was a boy like me,
And scattered gleaming blues and reds,
By the gutters and on the side unseen,
They bounce better on the rigid bricks,
But now we play on carpets clean.