When he was three,
He had all the hope and courage in the world.
I remember.
He took a bite out of the earth
With his tiny toddler teeth,
And swallowed it whole,
Unafraid.
He smiled.
He giggled,
And his blonde curls blew in the breeze
That he owned.
He was king of his playset
That he thought was the world.

But then he grew,
And he aged.
His hair turned brown,
And his curls became mild murky waves.
Still, his eyes shone.
But coffee yellowed his teeth,
So he stopped showing them.
Instead of taking bites out of the world,
The world took bites out of him.
And he was swept along by the breeze
That he once chose to set free.