Ode to Innocence

Oh half remembered, fleeting, happy time,
When nothing mattered more than love and play,
Imagination was then in its prime,
And life began anew with every day.

A flower was then a joy, a mystery,
And not a petal, root and simple stem,
And life was full of wondrous fantasy,
Untainted by the intellect of man.

That time is gone now; it cannot return,
The fruit’s been swallowed; its slow poison kills,
And yet my fallen heart will always yearn,
For that most happy time of unknown skills.

Oh false god...