Paint swirls like soft finger tips
The fingers of children
Enmeshed in life
And the inability to see past a moment
Yet cherishing the moment
With all the colors of their tiny fingers
The world seems brighter
Yet I have a thing for dull colors
And the children seem foreign to me
Aliens from some other planet
That is not quite as practical as me
So impractical
Inviting me into their world
Painted with colors from their finger tips
And figments of active little imaginations
Asking me to sit down
And... sometimes I sit down
Try to find something familiar
Something that the buried child in me
Can try to understand
And then for a brief moment
It makes sense
We are to be like little children
The world is so much brighter
It doesn't have to be
Practical
1 comment:
Beautiful ma'am. It is terribly tough to not lose our sense of wonder at it all...we're all too often tempted to take everything for granted. But creative beauty surrounds us in all things. From the majesty of a sunrise to the complex intricacies of our very bodies and life itself. It is all beautiful and made to reflect the beauty of our creator. You do it every time you write and with every breath you take...keep that in mind. It makes it hard to lose the wonder in spite of what the world tells us we should do to be practical.
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