Simply,

He's running.

Six years of age, and he's running to catch it;

the Sun's just within reach to him, and so he tramples

the fields of grains and grasses.

So young and oblivious is he,

for the Sun's in space, in a far away land.

Or, is it us,

the adults who worry themselves with such

complications,

that are the oblivious ones?

He runs without a care,

or thought of the vast world that seperates his elated

soul and the golden dumpling he

desires.

He runs with certainty,

that he'll one day touch the vibrant yellow ball,

despite running for hours upon hours each day.

He runs with a heart,

that complexity destroys.

-em;