Once happy

life and light slip free of bonds

skipping in streams, paddling in ponds.

no one knows where the past goes

it is memory as one said a rose.

the days wax long, but are not a chore

lost in the joy of waking once more.

who is the one who paints the sky blue?

or says to the dawn, rise with this hue.

there is a smile in the sky,

above it a cloud as a great open eye,

and below the world, new each day,

as snow in the morn, waiting for play.