Sweet is the word like a juicy peach-
Devour`d with sodden labials
Though children at a crèche;
Entrapped in a sweet surrender:
A golden girl stare at me with intrigue
A goggle look I shied I cannot bear.
Then a delving stare at exuberant suns
Swinging in swings boisterously.
Others wheeling energetically in the turf
Filing in a row to wash their hands in small bowels:
A stern mistress calling order
To queue mute in a line meandering;
Then a recital of incantations sweeter
To the ear enthralled prudently listening.
The scorching blaze of summer I loathe
Provoking fine threads on the tarmac,
Causing subtue dizziness of mind;
They seem not affected by it at all.
Two boys scuffing in the mud
With mired clothes still blithe:
Wrestling content falling in the mud
Ecstatically in a fun rough-and-tumble.
Walking out of the crèche with enthralled eyes
Of jubilation unrivalled passing a tree
With pointed leaves murmuring breaths I heard
Then astonished I lower`d the pace to glance
The exulted boys hanging down like bats
With arms swaying randomly in the air;
And mimic grim very humorous
They waved frantically at me and I felt cheer.
