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Spirit of the Child
As years settle to stone,
As newness weathers away,
Too often we lose the Spirit
That sprints through the fields,
Laughs, speaks freely,
Peeks beneath the stone,
Imagines flying and soaring and
What soon are wild winds of whim.
They say we’ll know a wider world.
Clearer, Sharper, much more Real.
But as those fantasies shed their appeal
Our ideas, our sparks, are hurled
Away.
Away, Away, I too must go.
Away from the graying sights
And into the last of the rainbows -
I need fresh air
To fight the wear
Of everything can glow!
And everyone can grow!
And asking why, why, why...
I know a few who haven’t lost that Spirit.
So rare, beautiful -
Like the peek-a-boo flower in drab fields
Shifting the monotony of the day,
They sprinkle in color, a little sugar on top,
For Spirits to rejoice and fly once more.
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Perhaps we were biologically wired to love children, but psychologically we can adapt to be them once more.