New poems

There is
A small child
A very little man
Who roams forever
Along a river bank
Hops on stones
Not to get wet
Crawls through weeping willows thickets
Gapes at the rocks on the bank
And clambers upon them
And drinks the water from the spring
Stares at frogs with dark backs and yellow bellies
That child only roams, watches around him
And lives his childhood
He cannot imagine
That even when he grows up
Everything will be the same
The roaming, the watching, the water,
Only thoughts will be different
And life less clear
There is
A small child
A very little man
Still roaming
Inside of me