Where the children go to play
Is where the summer grass endures
And sunbeams - like a cascade -
Pour down upon their bronze shoulders.
This - the children have learned well:
Butterflies don't really flutter -
Instead - they dance a sky waltz
To the cicadas' fond clamor.
Every breeze is a giant's sigh
That brushes their roseate jowls;
Every cloud - some foam in the sky
Behind which angels may be found.
What they know - they won't divulge
But they know what each new day brings.
Pity them - some drab adults
Who are ignorant of such things!
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Author:
Amy Michelle Mosier (
Offline) - Published: February 24th, 2025 18:26
- Category: Children
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: RSM0812
Offline)
Comments3
Ah but to see the world through a child's eyes again. A lovely poem about innocence and seeing things through flexibility
A poem about loss of innocence and simple faith in the magical. Great write. One of my verybfavorites today.
Love it
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