a wooded area with a little creek
captures the imagination of a child
a day’s solace could be found
or tears hidden away from inquisitive eyes.
even death visits and speaks
not yet child
so endurance is the day’s lesson.

laughter fades when the streetlights come on
as slow-footed children make their way home.
twilight’s gleaming applauds their efforts
as the night chariots stream across the sky.
before I leave, I skip one last stone
ensuring my place in history.

when death arrives, I shall ask one thing
may my spirit be allowed to walk home
along the path that cuts deep into my soul.
for to hear the laughter of children
is a sonnet to my existence
as the trickling waters resonates
what kept me alive all these years.

Author Michael Plante