Most interesting things happen to you as a child.
You walk barefoot on the grass, at this time, wrinkles,
You do not breathe the ashes, and only laugh at the seed,
Sown once wrongly
from the point of view of wisdom grandmother.
You are silent, hard to climb up the hill in a blind curiosity,
What is there beyond the hill? What plain, and all? From what defending something?
All brains buzz about how it all wild and scary there,
And you find yourself on it -
everything is wrong and somehow wrong.
All the beautiful people you meet as a child.
They silently monitor your hysterical cry for relief,
You're so full thrust in the loss and its loss,
That though is only a caress cup your cheek,
not least because some stayed.
They look like you poured all the pain angelic,
All your pain soundly about the universe and the world in all the earth!
They silently trying to protect you from disbelief,
Because all of a sudden you wake up -
here and you end.
All mad rush of thought in your childhood.
You make up as dolls created the most loving God,
You play and you pull them, so that he helped them,
And they, for some reason, all the climb of a new toy,
Yes chosen outfit, one that for the future.
You make them eat, pletesh their scarves, they comforted them,
Someone like as you become suddenly sent for them.
And they, laughing, whatever you are discussing and scoff at tobacco undertones.
That you're an adult. All dolls are flying directly into the pit.
Where the seed is sown. In the trash.