How it was grass greened for little
feet, tickled by their absurd bursts
of joy.
As between tinklings time sussed
out a sun, and the cheeks of
chummy cherubs dimpled like
embedded kisses.
Good as good graces may be in, a
child for all the world stood--newly
made, round as play.
Then one day in its sad, slow way...
something shadowed play.
What sunk that sinking feeling,
and turned magic on its head?
What left a laden cloud to blankly
hug a dreamless field?