Sunday morning
Springtime
Cloudless day
Mommy
Daddy
Asleep.
The God Pan calls.
We rush out.
Meet in the street.
The parked cars, too, are asleep.
We choose sides.
No traffic,
The road is clear.
Swing the broomstick,
Hit the orange colored ball.
In these quiet hours
We create our own destiny.
By comparison
We already know
Each other's future.