“When the child was a child…”

When the child was a child,
it walked with it’s arms swinging.
It wanted the stream to be a river,
the river a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
When the child was a child,
it didn’t know it was a child.
Everything was full of life,
and all life was one.
When the child was a child,
it had no opinions about anything,
no habits.
It often sat crossed legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in it’s hair,
and didn’t make faces when photographed.”
— Wings of Desire, 1987

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