Poem -
The Joys Of Infancy
And as I gently lay, beside the river still,
Upon the wavering, weeping grass,
Ruminating wildly, yielding to my will;
I mourned for summers passed.
Without problematic consciousness,
I breathed in the world nonchalantly.
In the comfort of such carelessness,
Amidst the joys of infancy.
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Comments
This is a beautiful little poem. I like the flow and the rhyme x
Thank you, you're very kind. I think the flow may have been influenced by William Blake, as I was reading his work at the time. x