All Anyone Could Say

The children that we love are busy people
intent upon their work, though they will look
at fire engines and hear a ringing steeple.
At bedtime they will listen to a book
if monsters they have known by name are in it,
if sometimes they sit quiet for a minute
before you know what called them they are gone.

Their world is full of things that must be done,
so many roads to travel off they go
hopping the fence, inspired by feet and hands.
One little girl whose thoughtful face I know
decided to explore the ocean sands,
the soft exploding foam flowers led the way
to where the waves reached in with easy sweep
of their long arms and lulled her fast asleep.
And that’s all she or anyone could say.