PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It was 1986 when I met the boy I would remember,

His fair skin, apricot eyes, and thin arms still somewhere in my mind.

We were children then, too young to know

Which faces the years would leave behind.

One sunny morning, beneath the merciless heat,

He suddenly felt unwell and his face had turned pale.

With no phone to call his mother,

Our teacher asked me to walk him home.

I couldn’t understand why she had chosen me.

Perhaps my innocent face looked kind enough,

Or maybe she saw something I couldn’t see,

A six-year-old boy she thought she could trust.

So we walked together, my arm around his shoulder,

Along a dusty road beneath a canopy of trees.

I wonder what we talked about that day—

Our favorite cartoons, perhaps, or dreams we couldn’t know.

The clock kept moving, and the years slipped past;

Our friendship faded as I moved away.

Perhaps we said goodbye; perhaps we never did.

What stays with me is his face and the sound of his voice.

Almost a decade later, my backpack weighing on my shoulders,

I came upon a boy walking down the city road.

His face had changed, but the voice remained the same

When he introduced himself as the boy I’d once walked home.

Suddenly, old memories came rushing back:

The scorching morning, the dusty road, the whispering trees.

We smiled and talked for a little while,

And he thanked me for a kindness I had almost forgotten.

We went our separate ways and never met again.

Neither of us knew how much time would pass.

Still, I remember his face and the sound of his low voice,

Wondering if I’ll ever hear it again.