It was a chilly spring night and I had run off
in tears, shaking, shirt soaked.
It was you that followed, caught up to me
by the clinking metal of the swing set.
I sat, quietly, looking toward the stars.
You sat next to me in silence,
drifting your feet over playground wood chips,
slowly rocking back and forth.
You pocket knifed finger holes
in your sweatshirt sleeves
to keep from freezing your hands
as I told the story of my confusion.
It was you that wrapped me to your chest
draped your leather jacket over my shoulders,
picked me an early-blooming flower
and guided me safely back home.
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