As years settle to stone,

As newness weathers away,

Too often we lose the Spirit

That sprints through the fields,

Laughs, speaks freely,

Peeks beneath the stone,

Imagines flying and soaring and

What soon are wild winds of whim. 

They say we’ll know a wider world.

Clearer, Sharper, much more Real.

But as those fantasies shed their appeal

Our ideas, our sparks, are hurled

Away.

Away, Away, I too must go.

Away from the graying sights

And into the last of the rainbows -

I need fresh air

To fight the wear

Of everything can glow! 

And everyone can grow! 

And asking why, why, why...

I know a few who haven’t lost that Spirit.

So rare, beautiful -

Like the peek-a-boo flower in drab fields

Shifting the monotony of the day,

They sprinkle in color, a little sugar on top,

For Spirits to rejoice and fly once more.