Children play, it seems, in all seasons.
I, pen poised, muse absently.
When does the child in us die?
When does the stranger, the observer,
**** Squelch our dreams,
And Lead us to the window,
To gaze wistfully at the children?
Comments?
Sorry, you cannot respond to an archived poemReviews
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Poetic !
Really liked this one . It's exactly the sort of musing I like to indulge in myself . The short format helps to deliver the punch of the thought flipped over very well. It absolutely works for me . Good Write. W.. Rewarded 4
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Happy musing
I don't think the child in us ever dies, I am 43 and I still play the fool sometimes, I feel that life should be fun and noone has more fun than children.. I was once described as a responsible adult who never grew up.... that was from the mouth of a 12 year old... I love this piece, it is musing at it's best...........
Hugs linda
. Rewarded 4
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Hia,
Well, as for this write, I must confess it's excellent, sprinkled with thought desire and a passion in stlye. It's about children, the child dwelling in our hearts. i cann't say much about it, as I am myself a mischivious child, fooling around here and there. But now U made me think of how once feels as agrown-up, the questions that arise in minds.
KEEP WRITING AND KEEP SMILING!
Take care,
Tanya. Rewarded 4
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Aww, but you used the squelch, your inner child is breking free!
Hehe, very nice, a simple poem conveying a brief thought, very nice, if unassuming. I can't really critique further, because it is doing what you intended it to do just fine. If it was longer, or tried to do more, then I'd probably critique further, but as it is, this is just perfect.
Although there's the stars, what's with the stars?. Rewarded 4
Windhover
May 23, 2006
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