Fifteen Children

Fifteen Children



She lay beside her sleeping child
And listened for the murmur
Of a long forgotten dream.


Against an ambivalent sky,
Moving quick across the ground,
A child ran
Trying to catch the sun.


I have watched the leaves grow old
And the trees rise up
And I have seen,
Now, after all,
That she is no longer a child.


His cry rang out across soft acrid planes.
An empty lullaby
For a frantic child.


A river was swollen with the summer sun.
The gentle rays,
That cut the surface
Of her subtle tongue,
Were asking for a child
In time for Spring.


For in the early dusk
Of a winter day,
It has been said,
That a child can hear
The slow dance of light.


I sat behind a screaming child
And heard the sound of aged white linen.


Shadows danced on an old stone floor,
Like a child
We danced with them too.


I sang the song of a child,
Hoping, that once
The song was over,
I would no longer be.


A child trapped in the winter sun.
He wished he wished again for snow.


She did not fear the feet
Of a child that passed her by.
She lifted them, quietly
Off the ground.


Why do you love
With the love
Of a child
And not of a man?


On a stage,
A child alone,
You felt free.


I want to be
Something greater than I am.
Every child wants to be
Something greater than I am.


A starling
Falls prey
To the hands of a child.


Further  Reading

Turning the Earth by Force,” a poem, and “On Stevensian Musicality: Three Variations,” a critical reflection, also by Jonah Freud.

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