WHAT A WONDERFUL LITTLE BOY

The view
gazes at him.

The landscape gathers
itself about him

as if he were a piece of pigment
in a painting a blob or blurr

of blue or green or
something in between.

"What a wonderful little boy!"
a passing cloud, pauses...muses

and says once more in case the hill
hadn't heard.

"What a wonderful little boy indeed!"
a tree agrees...winking...its leaves.

A river runs through him
alive in his senses.

The grass runs all over
the field tickling his naked toes.

Sunlight throws
itself at his feet

bows before him in all
its glory.

A breeze throws his hat high
up in the sky and

returns it to his hand
as if by command.

The clouds grazing now
upon a hill top

fascinated by his presence
how he has come to be.

"He makes us feel
so very much alive!"

One cloud nods
to another.

"Oh, there's a poet in him
to be sure to be sure!"

the river remarks
its voice clamouring over stones.

Time that sheep dog barks
but the clouds only luahg

"See how he lends us
his voice

in order that we may think
and speak.

Look I'm talking
in human words."

"Ballea...Ballea...Ballea!"
the farm shouts its name.

Again and again and again
the river exclaims

"Owenabui...Owenabui...Owenabui!"
sunlight dancing in its voice.

A bird stands stock still
upon the air

neither coming or going
just standing on nothing

as if it were a punctuation mark
typed upon the sky.

Time returns now
in policeman mood.

"Move along now...nothing to see here
move along now!"

And the landscape loses a voice
the sky its ability to see
the cloud has no words
the bird become a dot

only the sunset
whispers to an horizon

"What a wonderful
wonderful little boy!"