I watched a young
boy beat his
chest and scream at
the dawn until
the liquid sky drove
him away.
He chased thunder and
butterflies with the
same enthusiasm;
oozing a lust for
living in his chasm
of youth.
Ten years full of
questions and scabbed
up knees, freckled dreams
running across green fields
and sunlit meadows.
Golden little life,
resting beneath a
willow tree to sip the
sweetness
from the clover and
honeysuckle flowers.
Hours full of pocketknife
afternoons, whittling sticks
into arrows to
shoot at the moon.
And after the rain
oh sweet green youth,
run barefoot with the wind
toward a sinless
sky.
And live, live
live, for tomorrow
will come with a sigh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Aloha Thomas and Cheers Mate! Very Michael Flynn... I, meant Huck Finn! Whatever was I thinking! The American Dreamer not being dam frustrated by this staying in the box thingy? Funny thing is the safest place in outside in a slight breeze... go figure... are butterflies free? All of the best from this life, to you, and all of our relations... Michaelw1two