Comments about Eddie Morales
My wide-eyed child and I know of colorful things
that dip and skim over summer hills and meadows,
Of fancy freedom held aloft by wispy wings,
Of frail, orange petals edged in ebon shadows.
From grassy beds, between oaks and weeping willows,
My little garden walker and I greet the sky—
An azure floor sprinkled with fluffy white pillows,
All spot-lit by the yellow ball squinting the eye.