By: Amber Box

The Littles scatter like fallen leaves
Freeze dried, blowing across an autumn wind
The sweet smell of late honeysuckle
Sits on the tongue as if you could taste it
The warm sun laced with the cool breath
Of gusts from the northern skies
Like the chill of ice cream on a hot day
Golden rays on their faces, an ethereal glow
Tiny angels, cherubs float across the grass
Laughter flutters thru the air, butterflies in flight
Majestic in their shades of orange and lemon
Innocence runs wild among the weeds
Of a lawn forsaken for lovelier weather
Cheeks flush with the energy of joy
As The Littles race beneath the trees
That wind into the soft dirt, roots laid to hold
Their branches twist out over the The Littles
Protectors, sentinels against the world
And the smallest of the small feet
With the largest of large dreams
Run freer than free in a land
Of honeysuckle and weeds and guardian trees