B.C. Child - “I’m not old,
But I’m not a baby;
Six and three quarters.
Yeah!
I like sticks,
And climbing,
And sweets.
I fell yesterday.
These are me scabby knees.

The Dragon is a beautiful soul.
Gracefully arcing and curving,
Flexuous though ample.
Her shining scales glisten;
A thousand eyes.
Mimicking the unrefined
Wildness of the great orb,
Staring into mine.

The Forest is endless
Limited only by question
Of course

There is no true order
Except for social classes
The great oaks
Only great for their size
The modest sapling
Only modest for their youth

“I wander with my daughter.
Soft sands of dust and warm water like crystal glass
Glitter underfoot.
Boys build their castles and laugh,
They destroy each others forts,
The imaginary sand soldiers,
Flying in sandy bits everywhere.
Buried carelessly in dirty grit.