Freedom at play
runs along the beach,in the wild rain
without end to reach.
With sand on its toes,
like diamonds in the rough;
wet windy hair,
a Wuthering touch.
A child's spirit unleashed
an adult freed,
to feel the fun
and forget the greed.
Brollies left behind
folded and dry,
all the better
for wide eyes to soak up the sky.
Freedom at play
is the freedom for me;
try this at home
and you too will see.
Love this poem, especially the third stanza - go play!
ReplyDeleteTa; and I will. But while the rain rests and recoups, I think I might just try and get some work done -- till the next downpour...
ReplyDelete