A green sprout pushes towards the bright morning sun,

Yawning and rubbing the sleep from is eyes.

He calls out a cheery hello

As all the little bluebirds greet the day.

He stretches and stretches as the morning goes on,

And a full head of hair is first


Then yellow

Then white

Before the clever northwind blows

And all of his locks are lost from sight.

He is withering now, so old and frail

But he smiles insdie because he knows

He is going to a better place

With tulips

And lilacs

And wonderfull roses

Who just never stop growing.

With a sigh our sprout says,



A riddle

Almond shaped souls, mounted on alabaster,

Filled with emerald pools

Lie above three mountain ranges.

One range hides the souls from each other,

The others are only small, like hills.

A town of white houses sits in a valley,

With hillsides covered in pink flowers.

All is surrounded by golden grass

That brushes across the northern plain.

Each is part of a whole.

Yet, each whole is unique.



Answer: a face


Stuck in the middle
Between child and adult
Between dependence and independence
Between seeking and sought
Between beginning and end
Between love and lust
Between selfish and selfless
Between friends and foes
Between choices and choosing
Between bedtime and curfew
Between moods and moody
That is a teenager.