I took this photo of an old graveyard up on the Waterville Plateau in Washington State. This poem is in honor of two of my students who lost their young lives while exploring out on the ice.

How many times did I play on the ice?
Robby and me and Marky made three.
How many times did the river entice...
the boys on a typical day?

That tall Ponderosa in back should suffice
Kyle and I as we climbed toward the sky.
The wind gently rocked us above the ice...
here where we wanted to stay.

See the old bridge with the rusty tracks?
They claim that a train comes at night.
Planning each step. Don't fall through the cracks!
I can see the stream down below.

My ear on the rail when I lay on my back.
I could hear the ghost on it's way.
Two pennies put here, then I'd grab my backpack.
Are they flat? I never did know.

I scraped my knees when I ran from the bees.
They did not want to be in my jar.
I'll ride my bike through the weeds and the trees.
I fly so fast down the hill.

How many times did the fireworks freeze?
I'd light the fuse and run hard and far.
How many times did our kite catch the breeze?
Never a moment so still.

Dragging my angels through adventures each day,
my mother would faint if she knew.
Through frostbite and burn after hard times at play.
Now I lay me down to sleep.

How many times have I died? Yet I stay!
Breath and heartbeat are borrowed too.
How many times from the path did I stray?
Yet still my soul He doth keep.