Good soul!

Oh the soul of the little one
that by believing turns grand.

Crawling along side others,
always not understanding others.

Feeling he does
and not knowing he understands
turning demands into infinite creation,
the emptiness of distance.

Days turn into weeks and weeks to months.
What was then is not now.

Time and his definitive mysteries...

Can do the dreaming
but not walk.
Can do the walking
only by stepping dreams.

Individuality is space itself,
plane and empty space.





(...but there is more to life than one.)