Poem: What A Child Knows

There was a time when playing was good,

Loop-de-loops and slippery slides.

When upside down made life big and wide.

When fingers were magic,

Slick with paint.

When tea sets and teddy bears had names and estates.

There was a time when talking in the air was good,

When stories were told and notions were real.

When characters were named,

When silly and solitary were serious games.

When talking to yourself was child's play.

The years tick on,

The field of life changes,

And we let go of magical stares to nowhere,

Nonsensical thoughts filled with wonder and dare.

Color and music,

And tents made of sheets.

But where do they go?

Do they die off and take us with them?

No,

They nestle deep in the chest,

They pull up the covers to rest their tiny heads,

Until we grow weary and long for the past,

Until we see value from acres of grass,

Until we have fits of laughter,

And spin our tales of happily ever after.

We need snow,

We need escape hatches and theatrical show.

We need music and dance and work with our hands.

We need creative flow and states of trance.

A time to let go,

We really should.

It is now,

And it is good.