Their love to dress so gay, and princely,
while running through misty, open fields,
their walking, talking, and breathing free,
their carefree minds that do believe–
in all the good that’s in the world.

The innocence of those young boys,
with eyes fixed in curious study,
at a woman, who in her grandeur does,
garter the ends of her lace stocking-leg;
and think that day, at that very early hour,
that she is who he wants to be.

The innocence of those petite young girls,
who through the haze of their childhood sees,
a man, powerful, smart, and strong,
shouldering the weight of a hundred iron beams,
and thinking that day, at that very early hour,
that he is who she wants to be.

The beauty of innocence,
is the innocence of the young.
The only ones who truly see the sun,
as a bright ball of hope, above them hung,
amidst cloudy lakes of colours a ton–
bless the innocence of their youth,
bless the innocence of my youth.