Why didn't you finish The Hobbit
When you got old enough to read it to yourself?
Why did you stop learning a new song every week?
Why did you stop learning to do useful things
Like tying your own shoe?
Why aren't you using your cursive?
Why aren't you sharing things you find
For show and tell?
And why aren't you collecting things anymore?
Why aren't you keeping a ringneck snake in your pocket
To disrupt the class
And then win us all over
By teaching us how to hold it
By making a little cave out of our palms?
Why aren't you asking questions that make me think
Like Where does snow go in the summer?
Why aren't you making drawings of strange machines
For me to hang up on the bulletin board?
Why aren't you passing secret notes
To your friend during quiet time
That I can find on the floor and read
After all of you have gone home?
Why are you 74?
And why am I just a voice in your memory this morning
Saying, OK children,
Line up at the door,
We're going to disappear into the future.
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