A Child

I sit amongst the trees
the breeze
to take
my soul, I rest in unkempt grasses
cushioned among hills of moss
which grows, where
the sun cannot penetrate
the great ceiling of leaves.
The clover stretches endlessly
to one
lying minute
miniscule
yet a part of such a place.
The leaves quiver,
as boughs are waved
hoping to
    catch a
glimpse of tiny angel's eyes,
    they peek shyly 'round the limbs
of one so aged and strong
gnarled trunks
holding
secrets known, before
such rancor
did we
the human race display
upon the dirty streets
and smells
rough chemicals
and poisons we disperse
shall please those of a soul
so fell
the mighty aged trunks
and leaning one by one...
Yet wait,
    a tiny twinkle far away,
There,
a child, no more than three
flies dancing with the trees
Just in that moment
    when,
    the sun's sharp rays come piercing down
    through shadows in the wood
    Childish laughter
    Pelting,
    out man's noise
    His arms outspread
    and turning 'round
    trees spin above his head
A child will free us all
    one day
They shall dispel man's dread.

--elisa