A world of stained glass colours await us
blowing through fields of poppies and
baby's breath that rival the Master's
sunflower dreams merrygolds, and
marigolds, reflect in the iris of your eyes,

little white hooded boy, eyes behold all
the wonderment of childhood.
Hold tight to that
we are encased in enchantment
Not as fragile as it seems,
caught in the wind of magickal dreams,

This is our playground!
Look around!

Remember the beauty, should you happen
to be able to define it when you are seven
For you are of the chosen few, who can,
who do.

Perchance four decades later when you
return to this rainbow garden it will have
changed. Someone may have planted red
monster seeds when you were gone, and
changed the name once or twice...

This is still your playground.

The TOYZ of your inner visions still
remain. Your playmate is still the same.

Imagination is still the name of the game.

  Precious little Thursday's child,
can you come out and play?

A world of stained glass colours await us
Turn our backs to the monster's breath
that screams and see the fireflies,
butterflies, and magick, still reflecting in
the iris of your eyes, little white hooded
boy, with eyes that behold all the
wonderment of childhood

Hold tight to that
For we are of the chosen few, who can,
who knew.

  Precious little Thursday's child,
can you come out and play?

(Given infinity, no one, nothing can ever take that away)