This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Oxford Emory chapter.
I am eight years old
Sitting in a green lawn
Speckled with wild dandelions
Picking one from the grass
I remember to make a wish
The flurries disperse
With the wind’s quick motion
I hear birds converse distances away
Their happy and fast chirps
masked by the rustles of trees
Curiously I wonder
what they talk about
Right beside me
A black ant trails
through the maze of grass
He burrows into a tunnel of soil
And suddenly disappears
I want to know what it’s like
To fly in the air
or live below the ground
Or be a plant reaching for the sky
All I know now
Is that I am eight years old