Why did I think I had to put away
The childish joy of looking at a leaf,
Or lying on the ground to see the grass
While searching for the insects underneath?
Why did I think it was a childish thing
To scream and search to find a butterfly,
Or scramble to a quiet shady nook
To watch the white clouds sail the bluest sky?
What made me think I had to blind myself
To all the wonders God had made for me
And turn deaf ears to all the lovely sounds
And think I’d found such maturity?
Yu/stan/kema (age 18).