Just as the bud blooms into color,
As the clouds pour down in shower,
The catterpillar learns to fly
And our childhood whisks us by.
All those moments free of pretense,
Free of the need to try and make sense,
Surrounded by our truest of friends
Life was a string of trials and amends.
And though with time our world does turn,
We lose our sleep with thoughts that burn,
Our respite remains at the wink of an eye
If you can feel the child, or if you can try.
For no matter how far time will surely fly...
The child so close in us, shall never ever die.
