I want those days again
when frogs turned into princes
where mud was magic
between our toes or
in our hands rolling pies
days when kites rode the breezes
crimson tails fluttering
meadows of wild flowers
became mage castles
days when I believed
in three wishes
Easter bunnies
falling stars
rainbows
Do I have to become
a child again
to know the wonder
of life
or can an old woman
remember what it is like
to find God
in a pile of autumn leaves
tadpoles swimming
at the edge of the pond
soft bed, sweet dreams
hot chocolate on a winter morn?
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