we play in muddy puddles

swinging too high

on rusty swings.

singing little rhymes

over and over

driving our parents mad.

we have dirt under our nails

and stains on our shorts,

we run in bare feet

grass between our toes,

dodging bees

as we try to catch butterflies.

joy is what we crave

riding waves of fun.

our laughter fends off danger

unaware in our youth

of the dark world

we are running head-first into.

small things like play-grounds

slippery-dips and monkey-bars

are worth the bark-chip splinters.

and our parents call out

as we run laps around them

never tiring.

and then all too suddenly

it’s bedtime,

and one day we wake up

never to play again.

and we never realise how special

those days are ’til they end.