Innocence
Moss-covered rocks in a purple pail and a
Nosy green salamander rests on the bank.
Pudgy hands reach into the gentle rush of the stream;
Out comes the newest hardened culprit without a stir.
A flick of the fragile, young wrist and into the pail it goes,
Little drops of creek water trickling atop the other pieces of earth.
A step onto the first slippery stone and at last a
Decision presents itself, cool and meandering, yet
Cunning as the water moccasin below the muddy ripples. And it is
Here that youth dies. That dash of trust, that glint of
Naivete--all gone with a splash onto the hard, mushy ground,
That step onto a new rock a lifelong fall onto its tiny, collected pieces.
Nosy green salamander rests on the bank.
Pudgy hands reach into the gentle rush of the stream;
Out comes the newest hardened culprit without a stir.
A flick of the fragile, young wrist and into the pail it goes,
Little drops of creek water trickling atop the other pieces of earth.
A step onto the first slippery stone and at last a
Decision presents itself, cool and meandering, yet
Cunning as the water moccasin below the muddy ripples. And it is
Here that youth dies. That dash of trust, that glint of
Naivete--all gone with a splash onto the hard, mushy ground,
That step onto a new rock a lifelong fall onto its tiny, collected pieces.