The child playing unaware in the sunlight,
builds up a pile of wood and stones
to an ugly assortment of things
piled in a junkyard of unwanted scraps.
The yard is the child’s kingdom,
the pile of rotting logs
piled against a tree, her future fort,
buried in the heart of a shrub
is a growing arboreal palace,
and swaying high in a pine tree –
a watchtower where she can see
three kingdoms over.
Even there He is beside her as a master craftsman,
measuring the planks and laying stones,
peering with the engineer over the parapet
to marvel at the rolling earth.
Do not only say,
“Let the little child come to Him”
For He is already there,
laughing in a ray of sunshine.