(After watching the children play in the fountains of Warsaw)
are watering the heavens,
rising and rising
as yeast rises bread.
Raising the hopes
of the little one dancing
to a rhythm that's tapping
inside of her head.
This is her dream world
where fear is a fantasy,
love a reality
and pain's ne'er been seen.
This is where rhythm
with water and laughter
merge into a dance
as she taps out her dream.
When did we lose it?
The joy at small pleasures,
the forgetfulness, carelessness,
simpleness of play.
There joy is so tangible,
laughter an elixir,
hope the reality
of a single sun's ray.
Each day has its worries
enough for itself.
So I'll put fear of failure
right back on that shelf
beside worry, anxiety,
other future defeats
which rub on my heart
and all gladness deletes.
And I'll turn on the water,
slip on dancing shoes
and I'll skip to a rhythmn
that isn't the blues
and I'll dance with my Saviour
following his cues,
create with him a rainbow
of breathtaking hues
as the water and rhythmn
and exuberance fuse.
