A breeze blows in the night.
With it, comes the inevitable
future.
It smells of childhood memories past:
crayola crayons, glue from the teacher's desk.
It carries with it,
the wisdom of life, and
blows over us while
we sleep through the night.
We close our eyes a child,
and awake an aged face.
We inhale the cool breeze of life,
but we cannot let it age our spirit.
We must remain always a child.