Skip to: Content
Skip to: Site Navigation
Skip to: Search


By Neil C. Fitzgerald / March 13, 1980

Children of the morning sun, run with your laughter through splintered forest light, bound in flight like the deer, spring like the frog, sing tree sparrow songs, but be very sure to leave your echoes behind that the owl might remember the poetry of your innocence in conversations with the moon.

Skip to next paragraph