Children's Eyes, Children's Toys Poem by elysabeth faslund

What are seasons but children's soft dreams, and
Sunrise, their opening eyes?
Seeing at a glance
The days and years open...waiting,
Fringed with softness, or
Laced with abandon...

Like playing dress-up in the attic
With Aunt Dorothy's hat and gloves...
Not remembering the season
She died in childbirth...
And yet,
Ready to hear the story and pass it
Beyond their years...
To other ages.

Like playing with 'Bunny' in a toy crib,
Feeding her, patting, hugging...
Not yet realizing it is their son or
Daughter's crib...in a Time they already
Know of...deep inside.
Dreaming in waking.
In reality.
In dreams.

Dress-up and Bunny...hazy remembered
Pieces and bits...
Of kindness, hardness.
Cruelty, sympathy.
Love...
Known before, after...beyond.

What are seasons but children's soft dreams...
And sunrise, their opening eyes?
Seeing at a glance...
The days.
The moments.