the child-heart takes in it all,
though he or she feel lost or small,
and all of life be but a pall,
and dreams just shadows on the wall.
the child-heart is yours, and mine;
these shapes to mull on, and combine,
to shift and rotate, to align,
and see how they, and we, all
intertwine
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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