This Child Again


This child again

listens to the echo,

keeps calling,

speaking in quiet tones,

when once, the world was large,

now no one really knows.


This child again,

on sunny mornings,

at the crack of a new day,

would venture out,

seek new horizon,

fresh spruce and damp soil.


This child again,

when death came calling,

would feel the confusion,

recognize a brief derision

yet, early on would move again,

to a sweeter notion in life.


This child again,

would claim a spot,

in the playground line,

seek out an identity

with friend and foe,

who test their mettle.


This child again,

might ask for less

when in a world

their dream shatters

only to find a need

to live a little better.


This child again,

cried on the curbside,

while just beyond their reach,

could pain and grief appear,

only through a lens

of narrowly drawn mind.


This chid again,

suddenly aged,

became the child’s father,

or mother, wherever

time began the song

of reflection in our soul.


This child again,

does recognize patience,

while navigating a world,

that soon left behind,

some natural innocence,

a rite of resilience.


This child again pines.

Please I would love you to share words, suggestions ...

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