Where?

W. Renee'

Where do the simple things go?
Where do they flee on their gossamer wings?
Are there fairies that come, during our restful sleep,
Climb in through our windows, Into our brains stealthily creep?
Do they steal our childhood so that others may see?
Do they take what we use not so that others may be?
Why not stop a second, on the blue grass there,
lay back in the foliage, and become aware.
Why not try and keep those things, those simple things,
Our childhood dreams,
Before we awake and someday pose,
"Where did our simple lives go?"