Cheers to Whimsy
I have a small grandson,
Quinn.
He serves ice cream
from the crisp, clean air.
He knows not the day,
the forecast, or the year.
I pray his at-play, at-peace
lasts a good long while—
that he remembers
this ease
when today’s formal
education creeps
in to teach,
to introduce him
to inhumanity.
4 thoughts on "Cheers to Whimsy"
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You’ve said this so well, Michele. I love the image of the ice cream, and feel with you the fear that the wonder that is a child is no match for what awaits.
Sometimes that joy and wonder lasts a lifetime though…, good that you are there for Quinn. I think you point out a real fear though that always enters. Luckily air ice cream servings never runs out–I love the capture of the imagination in that visual. Love your poem.
Me too, sharing this wish and prayer
love, love, love…”He serves ice cream/from the crisp, clean air.”