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A Young Boys' Eyes
Billowing puffs of white cotton clouds,
Gently floating across blue summer skies.
Moving, drifting, always changing form,
I look at the world, through a young boys eyes.
Watching familiar objects emerge from the mist,
Could be a castle, a plane, or a ship.
The fantasy images drift through the air,
Taking this boy on an imaginary trip.
Laying in secret, in the cool damp grass,
In a place that only I, would ever be.
My mind wanders off to some far off place,
Staring off into a vast, deep blue sea.
I might be a pirate, walking the deck of his ship,
Or a cowboy galloping across the plain.
I’m no longer a young boy laying in the grass,
But an engineer on the worlds fastest train.
Laying in the meadow, the sun warms my face,
The changing shapes moving across the skies.
Time has stood still, on this lazy afternoon,
As I look at the world, through a young boys eyes.
