The Hills Of Carrara
Poem By John Ruskin
You, see the world through the eyes of a child-
One who has contemplated the soft chirping of
The emerald crickets at midnight.
One who gathers the brown leaves of autumn together
Simply to kick them away again.
One who smiles widely when called
By his mother.
One who weeps unashamed when he is alone
One whom asks large questions,
And is given small replies.
A chaser of mist.
We’ve gained many things-
Yet lost all of these.
I have devoted my time
Yet all I now wish is