In the heart of ageing fellow there was still the little boy
In his bed and on the blankets playing with his soldier toy
Stevenson the great poet and author for long years at writing toiled
Yet despite success and glory at heart he was still a child.
Young Louis was in his garden as a child and roaming free
He could hear the small birds chirping in their nest high on the tree
And the child he gazed in wonder at the marvellous things he see
Butterflies flying in the sunshine and the buzzing worker bee.
Stevenson the poet and author he was getting old and gray
But he was back again in Scotland in his garden far away
Playing with his toys in the sun shine in the shadows of the trees
With the pleasant scents of nature wafting in the Summer breeze.
Playing at hide and seek and fun games, 'blind man's buff' and pass the ball
And from the 'see saw' in the garden he could see above the wall
He could glimpse his neighbours gardens as he see sawed up and down
One of the many happy children in Edinburgh his Hometown.
From 'A Child's Garden Of Verses' one great lesson I recall
That the 'child within' is living and breathing within us all
It's just that as some of us grow older we grow bitter with the years
And our child within is stifling in our phobias and fears.
No comments:
Post a Comment