Laugh while you can, laugh as much as you can
Without reason; laugh loud for laughter’s sake.
Laugh, not at what you think you understand,
But at the dirt, the mud, the mess you make.
Soon you’ll be taught: “laugh now; at this, not that,”
And never will you learn how to unlearn.
Save your seraphic cheeks from creases stern —
Yet words are vain; already you are sad.
Laugh, but fly; stay, yet give your spirit rein
To roam the land where laughter is unchained.
Read while you can, read not between the lines;
Think not, but take those small, dark, out-stretched hands
And walk where you will; set no clock nor fence.
Ride dragons; climb trees; rollick in the sand.
Forget, if only for a while, to look
For messages, for morals in the tale.
Dig not too deep; seek not for secrets veiled;
Don’t ask yourself why someone wrote a book.
You have time, countless years, to take apart
A word, passage, or theme; don’t rush to start.
Your laugh the laugh of birds and beasts in Eden.
Your song is sung by nightingales unseen
In words unintelligible but ardent.
Your father marvels at your gaze, your keen
Eyes: those twin lights undimmed by weary night,
Eyes open to the world he cannot see,
A world in which, too soon, you’ll cease to be,
When he will teach you to rebuild, rewrite.
Your mother looks at you, and smiles, and shivers;
In you, she thought, she’d once glimpsed heaven’s glimmer.