I Bring Favour To A Child Poem by Rebecca Stansfield

I bring free favour to a child,
each innocent of when,
the wind blows west within the wild,
and each child retires I guess then.

How innocent a child is seen,
the islet hidden behind the hill,
is a picture of a hanging dream,
far hanging, standing still.

The helpless stairs climb of a life,
that dares a dream afloat,
but innocent of hardship and strife,
rides under and over gloats.

An issue any adult knows,
the immeasurable problems of only home,
are melody like patterns of the river flows,
where door slams become recurring tones.

An army of a soft delay,
are there as emotions of sadness,
until you're twenty four hours older than the day,
and lay in solid mess.

And paradise of men of shield,
that once to you seemed strong,
burst once the child has opened them, peeled,
they were never protecting you all along.

An overgrown mass of delight?
no, just a bush too far to protect,
the shattered dreams the atoms light,
explode into regret.