©Poems of R.F.Mueller- Other Times, Other Thoughts
Down the years I see your little pushface
though you must be scraggly-toothed now, wrinkled, old.
The naked sun, the towering fields, the trellis leading down,
the fuss made by mothers over visiting tikes
I still remember.
I was to take you out to play, and
hiding all the hate I did.
And behind the green wall I made you cry.
O I really got you good, and I was glad
when I was only four and you were maybe three.
Surely this is one of my earliest memories of independent action.