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Ode to a Wild Child
Now age has succeeded in killing the Elves.
Do we think of the gravestones, the books on our shelves?
And who have we left to count all the flowers?
Replaced by our ribbons and metal grey towers.
Where the Pixies and Faeries, the Trolls and the Gnomes?
Do our thoughts turn alone now to feather our homes?
Oh, Wild and abaondoned, alone we walk free
To talk to the butterflys, sing to the bees
Will we dance to the clouds, maybe walk with the trees
I turn to see God and see her watching me
In the twilight where once lived a myriad dreams.
Will our minds only wake to a heroine's screams?
To the fast moving visions of plastic clad heroes.
Who measure their standing by counting the zeroes.
See the cesspit of carnival painted so bright.
Have our lives drifted onward too far from the light?
I believe we believed there was really a Santa.
Life was rich and rewarding, our infantile banter.
There were ghosts in the dark when we turned out the light.
There were things carried on when the moon wasn't bright.
We danced like young fools 'round a ring of green grass.
Wove spells that were endless so time needn't pass.
Though now as I speak I am counting the cost.
As I hope that another might find what I lost.
She is young and believes that all she is told.
Will help her to be like I am when she's old.
I pass on these thoughts to my innocent child.
How by aging you lose any chance to grow wild.
Dreaming: track 8 copyright © Sean Bergin
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