When she falls, the fact remain.
When lying down or upside down,
Still a game can be found.
From peek-a-boo
To I can see you,
The simplest fun
Can make you run.
I wonder when the eyes see less.
The morning rain brings depress,
The morning week begins the pain.
Monday begins the chain.
But not so with you and I wonder why?
Is it because we haven't taught you to cry,
About the day and what it bring,
Or is it because your heart does sing,
And ignore the disdain of the day,
And instead run and play?
Are you immune to the frustration we beget,
And that's why you're seldom upset?
Or are we just taught to think this way,
Can, once again, we return to play?
To see a game in every day?
It's funny seeing my little girls play. Everything becomes a game as they walk, talk, hide, or just sit; it becomes a new game. I don't see many adults doing this and wonder when they stopped? Do you know when you stopped playing games with everything you do? Do you still do it? I know I embrace it far more than my wife does, and that sometimes I embarrass her. How about you?
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