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.
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