Childhood

It’s the morning serenade of dew,

Whetting growth beneath your feet.

It’s the accolade of life to be;

Here life and the living meet.

It’s the worn panted roams and wonders

Where imagination soars.

It’s unperplexed by rational thought,

And forgets what isn’t yours.

It’s the green of innocent’s learning,

But innocence wasn’t taught.

Its learning turned to brown, I question

Why something other was sought.