04-19-2023, 08:56 AM
Gold
Her hair in the sun as we run
hand in hand through imaginary
doors to find fairy tale country.
Bare feet on moss and stone,
other than trees and the silence
we are alone here in our home
away from home. Without care,
in a world devoid of time, we climb
ancient obliging trees, scrapping knees
doing as we please in childhood’s golden hour.
Her hair in the sun as we run
hand in hand through imaginary
doors to find fairy tale country.
Bare feet on moss and stone,
other than trees and the silence
we are alone here in our home
away from home. Without care,
in a world devoid of time, we climb
ancient obliging trees, scrapping knees
doing as we please in childhood’s golden hour.
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara