Stopping by the field on a golden afternoon

Stopping by the field on a golden afternoon

We do not know whose kids these are playing on the field.

They are running, running and running.

Hands and feet full of mud, numb without rest.

All we heard was catch, catch, catch and catch

Giggles of music pump through the hearts

Games changed in every minute, fun was at its best.

From the swings to the slide they moved and ran without grace, with pride

Seated on the grass under a huge aged tree,

Our heads were slow to be with them in the eyes so free

Names of the games? O heavens who knows them!

Rules there seemed to be little or none!

No points, no one won, all were in, no one out, none lost,

All for fun

They appeared and re-appeared so fast

Their madness so tired and fresh ran all over the field, and seemed only,

Only to last

When they spoke on the run

No meaning came from the wordless fun

Not a word they sang made sense to us

They understood them though without a fuss

And then again

Even after what all they did! It was time again to run, run, run and run.

Infected, injected with happiness above words, we felt our nerves found our sense

As friends would return we promised ourselves

Left the kids and the tree, in between their games

So full of fun: without sense, points, or names.