Innocence

Love

Remember the word
once felt so easily. . .

The drip of a drop off an icicle,
The clanging bell of my little red tricycle,
Mom wiping popsical sludge off my face,
Brothers and big wheels caught in a race.

Love is simple pleasures
small treasures
easily found
but not easily seen
from the eyes of one
grown jaded and beaten
until you release
all that was once
the adult you once
knew.

Surrender to innocent
trust
of the child who once
flew
with the angels

not looking
at angles,
but only one view
from the top.

Love is all there was then
and all there is
still.