Steps

A child played in the Valley of Innocence

Chasing tiny white butterflies

That shone in the sun.

He laughed,

And his tinkling voice echoed in cool morning air.

Searching the woods for hidden treasures,

The child came upon a clearing.

Eyes wide in wonder,

He beheld a hill with glittering golden stairs

Threading up its flower dappled slope.

Slowly climbing the smooth steps

The child gazed up at the soft sunlight

Dripping in yellow droplets

From the hill's pinnacle.

The stairs grew larger.

Flowers disappeared.

The sun's soft rays grew hard

And drove into the ground like nails.

The child's mind forgot the happy laughter

Of the morning.

His eyes opened to pain and ugliness.

The hill became stark and bare.

Grass shriveled and bleached.

Still the child climbed

Toward the sparkling hilltop.

Childish curiosity transformed by pain

Into faith and hope

Lead him farther and farther.

The steps narrowed.

Thorns grew over them.

The shine on the top grew closer.

The light reflected in the child's

Once innocent eyes.

The beauty was within reach.

And the child cried

For the lost joy that filled soft mornings

And

For the painful glory that is life.

-Nan Arbuckle