They have no idea what’s waiting for them,
Woolly, wally, wily;
Kicking up their heels in innocence;
Puffy like clouds,
Soft-seeming like cotton candy.
Horizons all unknown to them.
Truths they don’t know.
Growing heavy with blossoms.
What’s pink and white and bridal
Will green beneath the sun;
Will brown and burn beneath time’s hand,
Will wither and feather-fall into the wet, turning earth.
This we know.
You: babe in arms.
Your horizon might be further than the lamb’s;
It might be cluttered and bright;
Meaningful, painful, beautiful, absurd.
The dark lurks in your blue eyes too;
The creases of age hide beneath your suede-soft skin.
This we pretend not to know.
Picture credit/discredit: author's own work