Eight Was

 The world stopped for you

at eight.  The amber of time

froze you there:

infinitely eight. 

But time proceeds

for the rest of us, 

and who you might have been

evolves with those who

yet have memories of you. 

Eight was too young

and always is,

even if the age of reasoning is 

here; the baby teeth and baby cheeks

are those of a bud

not the full flower of the 

gorgeous life to be. 

Eight was

the full sum of your years but not

the full sum of your life.

We are not immune to tragedy

but see it in its starkest relief

when we see it 

and you are eight.

And we are, for this moment at least,

so very old, and 

tired of this.