What moments are like the ones
When children, anywhere, stumble
-At a sudden halt to their gallops, their runs-
Upon some abandoned structure, crumbled?
What rush of the sudden fireworks of dreams
That in the galaxy of a child’s eye beams
When first they sink bare feet in streams?
What moments are left us, when we are grown,
When we are mired by all that we’ve seen
And the seeds of malaise and mistrust have been sewn
In our aging garden, once hopeful and green?
Why, all of the moments are left to us still,
Compared to the cosmos, saplings on a window sill
Our earth is yet rich and yearns for the till.
prince nothing 