Child

"My child, my child, don't run so far.
And not so fast.
And not so happily-
Surely I'm not that awful?
Surely you're not so glad to be getting away?
Or maybe I'm just not so important.
Maybe the leaves, and the trees,
And the summer's day,
And the kids chattering away, dangling off the jungle gym,
Are more interesting, inviting, attractive.
Alright, I understand.
Go then.
Go on, have a good time.
I'll be sitting here, waiting for you.
I guess I should have remembered that you'd want to play.
That you wouldn't just want to take a walk.
I should have brought a book.
Never mind.
I'll sit and watch the day that so entrances you.
Then when you're done, and it's dark, and we're going home,
We can talk about it awhile.
Atleast it's a change from the house...
Well, go on, then.
I'll wait here for you.
Come, when you're done.
I'll enjoy the day till then.
And when, in an hour, Aunty goes this way, on her evening walk, I'll waylay her.
And then I can talk to her for a bit.
She won't mind, I'm sure.
That'll pass some time.
Enough, I'm thinking aloud.
And you, silly child, are standing here and listening to me.
Run along and play, before all the time is gone."
The child looked at her, her head cocked, her eyes wide.
And then she turned and went.