Scraggle haired, red-cheeked, grass stained
         things, running with wild flowers in hand
         and mud underfoot, shouting and stomping
         and grinning, sunshine sliding through
         let-down curls, all missing teeth and
         ankles showing beneath cuffs;

who  sprawl crazily on park benches, on
          dirt, on chalk-ruined cement, faces
          upturned to taste the rain,

who  drop everything to watch an airplane's
          ascent, a scarlet fire truck, the
          scrambled flight of migrating geese,

who  seize mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles
          around the waist and hang on for
          dear life, squeezing with affection
          almost too ferocious to bear,

who  wail at the butterfly smashed
           on the pavement,

who  scatter like autumn leaves when
          told to come inside, darting into
          the shadows, teeth glinting wolfishly,
          scampering into the boughs of trees
          to hide with bated breath,

who  ****** their hands out of car
          windows to tickle the wind,

who  choke on laughter all day and
          dream of dragons and stardust
          all night,

who  want the answer to every
         question,

who  are the embodiment of wild sunsets
          and turbulent skies,

who  haven't yet inherited the rust
         of adulthood,

who  chase pigeons in the park,
          flower chains slung haphazardly
          round small necks in the
         slanting rays,

who  dance on the sidewalk to songs
          that exist only in their minds, arms
          flailing, heads bouncing, indifferent
          to passers-by,

who  walk the earth with wide eyes  
          and bursting hearts,

whose  love could power a stellar
             explosion;

            Scab-kneed, angel headed, sun-burned
            beings, flushed and bare legged, tearing
            across fields of dandelions with
            mad smiles and outstretched arms:
            a band of the best and
            brightest creatures