When I was small, when small things held wonder,
when it took so little to delight,
I'd marvel as ants moved through my ant farm,
tunneling sand day into night.

When I was small, before science mattered,
when I was accepting of what things seemed,
I'd train my gaze on magic antics
of bouncing Mexican jumping beans.

When I was small, unsophisticated,
brightly dyed gravel in goldfish bowls
seemed to me bits and pieces of beauty
set in water for me to behold.

When I was small, naive and untraveled,
I kept baby turtles with painted shells
under plastic palm trees on plastic islands
where they held me for hours beneath their spells.

For years I have felt no fascination
for tunneling ants or pieces of stone,
for when I was small, I knew so little -
but now I know better since I am grown.