I love to watch the people,
Rather, what is left behind:
A certain color, flowing free
Imprinted in the mind.

Adults shuffle hunchbacked
Brown, and black, and gray,
With cracking, folding faces
Corroding every day.

And have they not a reason?
For time has taken its toll
With future's ceaseless task driving
Fretting at the soul.

Poised on the edge of adulthood,
Teenagers shift their hues
Alternating from brightest reds
To the darkest blues.

Most distill their colors
With cynicism, doubt.
Pastels quiver to explore,
Unwilling to venture out.

But my love is for the children
Streaks of crimson, teal and lime
Glancing off like rays of sun
light, striking every time.

They hear music for what it is
The magic behind the play
Flaring brightest in happiness
Slowly fading away.

I often have cause to wonder,
Do we lose something as we grow?
Is it children with the clearest lenses?
I believe, I believe so.