Four Children
Who be these that no not the color of their skin. At play in the sand near the waters edge on this hot summer's day. Yet they no not of the heat; just the laughter of each others' voices. Still they realize not the difference of their birth. Mothers lay on the beach chairs with book in hand. Always a watchful eye on the four children playing. Toys in hand, hard at work on their castle in the sand. No care given to whose toy is in the hand; just the knowledge of the castle built. Still where are the fathers; one wonders why they sit in their solitude; drinking their wine. Soon the fathers and mothers with the peace shattered, no longer do the children laugh. Consumed by what has destroyed that which was their peace. One by one they leave as their parents call to them; leaving the castle unfinished. As now somehow they realize one from another they be different. Sadly the lesson learned of the color of their skin is apparent. Yet they yearn to finish what was begun in peace and laughter by four children. Perhaps someday the parents will learn from the children; and finish the castle...
Inspired by Mary
© Words the Windows to the Soul
