out beyond the break of the hill,

past the weeping-willows,

there lies a small mound of dirt.

i remember that hill from my childhood,

still embedded in my mind.

i used to go there to find myself,

returning full,

overflowing in prepubescent omnipotence!

now i go there only in my dreams.

visit the hillside,

try to find the tranquility,

the simplicity,

the sheer exuberance of childhood.

if only for a moment,

i could stand again beneath the stars,

sit upon the damp ground with folded legs,

knees in hands,

contemplating – nothing!

i would die to be reborn,

to be that innocent,

that benign!