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And one day you will realise,
that there is no longer that childish bustle,
that so much wears out the smiling soul,
The distant echo of past laughter,
is now heard like a murmur,
and the wind whispers in golden leaves,
a song of calm, a subtle lullaby.
That harmonic chaos, in the breeze is felt,
a noisy silence that shelters the home,
the shadows of the game, in my latent mind,
memories that sprout, that will never go away.
one day, in the calm of the day,
you stop to listen and it resounds in you,
the magic of time, the peace that is sent,
in every leaf that falls, in every scene.
And though childhood is fading and fading away,
it carries with you its light in your breast,
for in every silence, a whisper is made:
The essence of the child, eternally made.