I would love to return to a place of innocence.
Did I grow out of it, or did older people influence my change?
And why would they rush me to grow up?
What could possibly be greater than beauty and wonder?
Curiosity painted the flowers - each one a carefree color.
Tiny petals tempted the brush: "paint me red, no paint me yellow."
Little eyes gaze upon small bugs wanting to paint them too.
Look at all the feet that could use little shoes.
Adults tell me I cannot go back; are they wrong?
I love a retreat for a heart that loves nature's creatures.
Grab your paintbox and your brushes.
I go to a place of innocence ~ and you?
