The children pass thro the cave doors
and in the high grass
build kingdoms of green, where
they dwell under the will of
the butterfly,
knowing full well how the soul floats
as the butterfly does, where it will . . .
Your eye searches the field
of living green .
You come so near to where
their voices float up from faraway games .
Lying in the grass, their world
hides the clear blue sky . . .
At last their voices surround you .
You have come so near
you almost understand them . . .
