Little children

Little children

Chubby fingers

Waving

Float on water

In Moses baskets

Following the eventide

Across the shallows

Over shifting sands

Where old sailors lie

Unto Morningside

Where families wait

To find them

Grounded

An island oasis

A magic garden

Full of perfumed

Flowers

Heady with promise

When all futures past

Are perfect

Even as proof

Of life

Is seeping

From a broken night

Of sleeping

Strange blues

Midnight hues

Nothing left is keeping

Lupine paws from

Stable doors

But the hope

Of something more

Than exists

In infant insurrectionists

Extinction rebellionists

And the melancholy

Of an environmental

Catastrophe