Child of five, castles sand
You make, you teach your childish hand
Full of life, life to mould off mud;
Just, to dismiss the towers with a final thud.
You toss utensils in playful an air
And run, catch, you return back there.
Curious, you turn to find the spade
Hidden somewhere underneath what you’d unmade.
Bang the earth, flat mother of all,
In a bid to summon her to your worldly call.
Far away, somewhere, let your vision skim
In a seamless view of all interim.
He that watches your mother — the woman by you —
Gaze from the side, so in fact it is through
His glance and your mother, who stands straight in a line,
I see you on your bum, where you resign.
His short, cheap stripes of red and green,
Catches in its make the breeze, between
The salty calf and ankle, deep
In sand, the sand is still as sheep.
** The poem was originally composed in October 2004, under the title ‘Child At Play’. Reworked and refined.