a child's spring

we are
yellow daisies in
sunning fields and our
hands are covered with ice cream.
we are
running high and fast through dreaming lands
and covering shade with the shaded hourglass
of time, it moves and we are
done before we know it and our
hands hold messy flowers and my
lips are parted in wonder when I
hold the seaglass up to the light.
I'm done
and the day is young
like we are extravagant,
and we are pretending, cheeks rouged.
why, my
high heels clip-clop along the dance floor
and i, i, I am wondering
we are
dreams of clouds kept; wispy-lockets
worn as keepsakes
shown to friendly faces,
we are.
newborn and delighted
to see the world, to learn to fly in
sunning fields, we are
yellow daisies.