Let it say,
\npoetry and children moved him.
\nThey were the last breath
\nof my life.
\nThe only thing for which
\nI opened my eyes
\nagainst inevitable fate.
\nPoetry lives in my soul,
\nand children water my love.
\nThey cannot be
\nwithout each other.
\nDid I know this in the beginning?
\nDoes a child realize its purity?
\nDoes it sing and play
\nand wonder what it is?<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t remember such a thing.
\nMy childhood was magic flutes,
\nrailroads,
\nthe smell of bark and chestnuts,
\nthe coming and going
\nof imaginary friends.
\nI was a nomad
\nin search of tunnels,
\nstepping stones,
\nthe fallen moon.
\nThe language of children
\nis poetry.
\nThey never shut windows.
\nThey shout in happiness
\nwhen the sun comes up,
\nand I will hear them
\neven as I die,
\nlike love calling out.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Let it say, poetry and children moved him. They were the last breath of my life. The only thing for which I opened my eyes…<\/p>\n