The Nature Boy
A boy of six came down my way,
Wild and carefree in his play,
Silver mucus beneath his nose,
Like frozen dew upon a rose.
His tangled hair was crowned with clay,
Dust from the games that filled his day;
Soft bubbles rose with every breath,
Then burst as quietly as dreams meet death.
His little face, with earth stained brown,
Held trails where tears had wandered down,
Carving rivers through the grime,
And resting on his chin awhile.
No jewels bright, no borrowed art,
Could match the beauty nature wrought;
In every tear, a strength shone through
Untamed, unspoiled, and wholly true.
A child of earth, of wind and sky,
Where laughter blooms and tears run dry;
Nature’s son in raw embrace,
Wearing childhood on his face.
