Words are like a breeze in a poets mind.
They drift about within
until pen to paper is taken.

Until an invisible force like wind
pushes pen to orchestrate a symphony of prose.
A symphony like wind that plays inside a breeze.

I envy them
For they are free
But that unfortunately isn't me
They soar in the sky
While I'm stuck down here in my dimise
I hear them sing
"If you can't fly then run",once said Martin Luther king jr
So I run and never look back

Children 
Inquisitive and Ingenuous

Nimble yet gullible

Blessings and catalysts

In their parents' life 



Children 
As pure as gold

Can be cast in the most beautiful of the Moulds