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Simsbury High School Wheelbarrow Boy
Youthful pumpkins mush him on,
Stalking his future,
Spraying dusted tracks in pacing eyes,
Running with his task,
Swayig like a tiptoeing truck,
Clicking heels in the sentimental clay,
Disturbing the sleeping soil,
Dashing by the naked trees,
So genuine,
Wheeling over the strutting brook...
~
such a passioned tale,
oh fancied little boy,
such a burden in your belt,
to yield,
on such a day like this,
Wheelbarrow knows the way,
Knows the patterns in the mysterious puzzle,
in the hands of the pen,
in the teeth of the sword,
Simsbury of every cold four years,
Of every endless desert left to cross,
Of every soul to follow other little footprint trails,
Into a cave of nuisance questions,
follow her heart,
Follow her way,
Wheelbarrow found the exit signs,
found you in the end,
In such a heavy high school,
Of watches and bells,
Footsteps and heartbeats,
All we really are, are toys,
Of the Simsbury High School Wheelbarrow Boy...
