The Language of the Young

Squeals and shouts and joyful sounds

Echo through the park

The sun’s been down an hour

But they don’t mind the dark

They only speak a few words

Of each other’s mother tongue

But they can speak the universal

Language of the young

Generations

He taught me how to ride a bike

And how to drive a car

To always sauté spinach

But eat tomatoes how they are

How to tell a Monarch

From a Tiger Swallowtail

To always pick out postcards

And put them in the mail

How to float out in the ocean

And paddle a canoe

I hope I can do half as well

When I am teaching you

Dress Shirts

I miss the men in dress shirts

Looking tidy with their ties

Coats of seersucker and poplin

Switch to tweed as Fall goes by

Belts that match their shoes

Tailored pants that fit just right

Those handsome men in dress shirts

Are the District’s finest sight