A Thousand Wings

So, what are you thinking about, my dear?

What brilliant dreams these tiny eyes hold?

Are you thinking of why the trees are all different shades of green?

Or why there are so many flowers of different kinds?

Are you thinking of why water, sometimes, falls from the sky?

Or are you trying to decipher where the sun goes at night?

Why the mud and the sand feel so good in your tiny hands?

Or why the wind makes a swoosh sound when you swing on the swing?

Or why your stomach tickles in the merry-go-round?

Are you thinking why the grass smells so good in spring?

Why wet, cold water makes you squeal with laughter?

Or why the sun feels so hot on a hot summer day?

Why I always get tired, but you can keep playing in the park?

And where do I get a new story, every new night to say?

The answer, my dear, is this little thing called childhood

It’s the most precious gift from god to man

It’s the only time to be free; truly, really free

A time not bound by life, nor bogged down by routine

A time when you have a thousand wings in your little pink bag

A time your flight is not restricted, by the height of the sky