I sat on the park bench as the sun rose high in the sky. Little birds pecked for crumbs from my tossed

away sandwich. The huge maple trees provided shade as I felt a gentle wind blowing. I looked towards

the cemetery surrounded by a white picket fence. The resting place for parents, and grand parents, and

children too. As I reflected on all those who have passed, I looked behind me.
                                                                                                                    
Behind me was a playground and I saw the swings swaying slightly. The merry go round slowly turned,

as if pushed by small hands. I could almost hear the giggle of little one's playing tag, "you're it"!  I felt my

heart sigh to think that children could no longer play there. It was then I heard a small voice, and I glanced

to my left. To my surprise, I saw a small child with a glow around her.
 
She said; "we know who you are, and are so glad you write poetry. Don't be sad for us, because we often

cross over, and play here". When she stopped talking, she pointed behind me and I looked. I stared with

a wonderful smile for I saw many children, running and playing. They all had the same glow and I knew they

were the spirits of children. The bigger one's read stories from books or pushed little ones on swings.
 
They played kick ball, hide-n-seek, or some just sat and talked. Some looked sad as bigger one's rocked

them back and forth on their lap. Once and awhile I would see one look my way, and give a small wave.

My heart feels so much compassion for children. They'll always be dear to me. The little one by me was

precocious as she climbed up on the bench. Not the shy one by any means, she hopped onto my lap and

giggled.
 
"I'm so glad you came here today, we all are, because your poetry tells everyone that we are still a part of

our mom's and dad's memory, and that we miss them. I wish my momma didn't cry when she brings me

flowers, it makes me cry too. Please tell her if you see her that I love her and that I wish I could go home

with her". I looked down into her deep green eyes as she smiled and gave me a big hug. Maybe you could

write about children in a playground, and then, she disappeared.
 
© 2002 Raymond Cook (All rights reserved)