I wokeAnd creptLike a catOn silent feetAbout my own house-To lookAt you While you were sleeping,Your hairSprayed on the pillow,Your eyesClosed,Your bodySafe and solitary,And my doorsShut for your safetyAnd your comfort.I did thisThinking I was intrudingYet wanting to seeThe most beautiful thingThat has ever been in my house.

As a child, what captivated me was reading the poems myself and realizing that there was a world without material substance which was nevertheless as alive as any other.

There is nothing better than work. Work is also play; children know that. Children play earnestly as if it were work. But people grow up, and they work with a sorrow upon them. It's duty.

And I do not want anymore to be useful, to be docile, to lead / children out of the fields into the text / of civility, to teach them that they are (they are not) better than the grass.