Drops of Dew

Her, I envy

  Among the pines I see her often
  when the sun spills her mid evening rays
  A beauty, a queen in her own world
  I watch her as she sings and sways

  The twinkle in her eyes, as if, let's me know
  she's still miles from feelings sour
  it's play in that twinkle, tells me so
  she's an innocent child of four

  she gambols around, the blue in her frock sweeping the ground
  up and down by her maiden
  at a frog's ribbit, or a butterfly's plunge
  she turns with zest unbidden

  I wish I were the girl of four
  running afore the moths amok
  but all I do is swear in uproar
  passing a beetle on my walk

  When the thunder strikes
  be it the sky or her mind
  the black clouds roaring in their wake
  or the water in her eyes be of her own make

  She runs to the hands that hold her strong
  always there, be she right or wrong
  she cries in there, half hour or so
  in the right hands, if she's feeling low

  Wish I were a child of four
  crying my heart in mum's hands
  with nothing to think, nor to care
  except the sun now out in the lands

  Alas, I'm not a child, I think of the past
  and look at the future, that I may live in the present
  with one foot here and none out there
  A life lost in cross, colour and crescent

  I wish I were the child of four
  without all these worries my way
  hiding my face in those sweet sweet hands
  till the horrible thoughts went away.

  I envy her so...