Curb of your Childhood

We are sitting together on this curb of your childhood. I warn: the asphalt may make your feet bleed as you cross.
We hear the meadowlark flirting, the sweetness of soft grass and daylillies smile their welcome,
Come to the meadow of woman.
Thistles hide, thorns…the stinging nettle…
I sigh.
You drop my hand and run across.