I Think of Children

I think of children half often.

Their small clothes. They walk yards.

My yard is clean with lawn. 

I hear small voices rehearsing to be young.

I am young for the first time.

When a child I was old with obligations.

Obligations turned obbligati in the nest of night.

Flute sounds occupied wild staves.

I heard wilderness in whole tones harmonized.

Imagine being part of a choir of bells.

Bell sounds call me to attention.

I pay attention to the spells.

Are there blooms in the spells? 

How do they perfume shared selves?

I wait for shared selves in walked yards.

The many episodes themselves become children.