Baby wears them.
Morning was the smell of toast,
afternoon the shadows of trees,
late evening was for cereal.
The clock was never counting.
It was a sweetie song.
Its gentle rythmn just is a circle:
it hums, it sings, it teaches me some secret things.
But how the play comes back each year.
I held a spoon, I tapped a plate,
And in the corner, small and slow,
a potato watched the minutes grow.
Grown-up said, “It’s only food.”
I can still hear baby saying life is playing.
Imma eat a big apple, dream a dream so big, happy songs and people make my heart sparkle. One time an ant bit me so hard I cried and gave thanks in my heart because I’ll remember this moment forever. Never forget somethings are to keep. To be simple is so good.