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fragments
tom walsh
what shall i tell a child if she asks me what is life?
will i recount the pain and hurt and focus on the strife?
or shall i paint a picture of the beauty that is found
in sailing ships and chocolate chips and bugs beneath the
ground?
i'd like to think i'd give her hope of all that is to
come
but if she reads some poems of mine, her hope shall be
undone
i cannot bear to think that i may dim a child's eyes
present to her a world of just confusion, pain, and lies
for if i am to tell her early on of mountain streams
and help her build the pillars that will hold up all her
dreams
i'd paint the birds that fill the trees with beauty and
with song
a sanctuary in her mind to help when thing go wrong
and in that place in her mind's eye the flowers would
grow free
in meadows under blue skies by the mighty loving sea
she's have a place for comfort, have a place to be alone
amidst tomorrow's challenges, no matter how she's grown
i pray to learn my lessons from the children whom i meet
i dream of sowing sunshine on a crowded city street
i pray my words shall never hurt the child here inside
i pray that never shall i fear the child in me has died
i must reject some words of mine if i'm to feel i'm free
embracing hope, i must hold on to how good life can be
that i may treat the children with respect that they
deserve
for i shan't live for self alone--i give my life to serve |
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No
one imagines that a symphony is supposed to improve in
quality
as it goes along, or that the whole object of
playing it is to reach
the finale. The point of music is
discovered in every moment of
playing and listening to it. It is the same, I feel, with the greater
part of our
lives, and if we are unduly absorbed in improving them
we
may forget altogether to live them.
Alan
Watts
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