Where have the many sounds of childhood gone?
Passed from the mind along with mere words
that failed to name but only caught the song
of senses green beneath the shade of trees.
Where are they now? A child stands near and plays,
the mystery of words beyond them yet.
In senses' grasp they bundles up a ball
of colours, sounds and smells once only new.
While I remain: distant, impotent, still.
Content to skim flat stones across the sea.