This poem is about having eyes of a child no matter what the age, and returning to the wonderful, simple things in life that are free for all.
When comes the time of childhood play?
In fields of wild daffodils sleepily we lay.
The wind sings a lullaby, signaling the end,
Of fairies or pirates that had come to defend.
When comes the time for honeysuckles picked?
Pale softness peeled back and sweet nectar licked.
Warm sun blankets souls of those growing old,
Lost childlike dreams, leaving memories cold.
Run fast on the coolness of green, summer grass,
Run fast with each breath, dare that breath be your last.
Stretch out in the daylight, cool earth to your touch.
Lose nothing in dreaming,
Lest you choose to lose much
Share
Print
Save
Follow
