a hand runs across the desk
feeling the wood under their tiny tips
small pea eyes dart around the desk
watching the ants march past the tomato coloured dress
time passes and things grow
the hands learn to hold
hope, dreams, butterflies and ice cream
flowers, spoons, juice boxes and looney toons
the hands will grow, to hold much more
the eyes grow bigger
as they seem something smaller
a little snail, crawling on the floor
admiring the magnitude of this tiny life near their door
time passes and the curiosity ceases
the hand now writes
of colourless themes
their world is black and white
ink flows on paper, it seems like so forever
the eyes now tired,
search for greys
in their bounded milieu
of bustling bodies and bothersome nobodies
time moves on quietly
a hand lays on the bed sheet
feeling the cloth against the limp being
eyes close down
letting sleep take over them, the tiredness having won
time finally stops
for them.
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