Of Innocence

I am what is left
Of childhood days;
Those luminous hours
I will never forget;

A home, a garden,
Two sons running free,
And all the world on bended knee;
Like royalty, unburdened by destiny;

It can't be surprising then
That a poet was the product,
Of such soil as this;
We are grown naturally, after all;

An apple seed, the universe,
And a few words too;
Between love and death, we labour best
Taking just enough for an evening's rest~