My friend Lyn’s 8-year old poem.

Slowly, I witness myself
Losing ground, losing grip
On my only stronghold
Forming into a listless shape
Without sides and angles,
The element that orbits
The earth
To which it only turns to
When its surface
Has been lulled to sleep,
Seeing with its eyes closed.

The one with shallow pursuits
Finding pleasure
Out of circles eternal,
Looking at the grandeur
Of a mere empty space.

I wonder of shifted fates,
Anticipate their becoming
Should the earth be celestial,
Be the one that will mark
The path of a drowning shadow
On a still or running floor,
Giving the blaze that is due
And rightfully his on accounts
Of nothing, nothing…

But you are earth
And I
Will forever be
Illuminating, turning,
Willing.

Happy Birthday dear one.