Dancing Leaves In The Wind.

As the storm arrives with a vengeance,
the little lad stands there facing up to the storm,
it seemed not to worry him, he stands there soaked to the skin,
with the scent of the rain the clouds with mud on his feet,
as he looks up at the trees, the dancing leaves- in the wind...
Suddenly the wind lifts him as high as the dancing leaves 
which are now that wonderful green of spring.
It seemed he grew wings and he's floating on the thermal winds, 
a great big smile on his face as he lands down with a bump ...
there is a kind of calling, someone blowing into a conch shell,
how i love that sound of the conch shell calling..
the only way to be heard , from that great storm. As he shouts and jumps, 
chasing that storm it lifts him yet up again,
that makes him feel like a warrior a king a boatman...
his mothers son...with the fork lightning this primitive earth of he's,
clapping thunder all around it makes him feel so excited, the adrenalin in his being...
it runs right through him, the whooping the excitement, as he remembers his mother,
the stories she use to tell, of that prince that went walkabout to remove the sadness,
from his world...he walked far and wide, sailed across many seas,
no one saw that prince ever again,he just went on walking. 
Then the boy runs inside gathers all the papers he could,
and makes paper boat after paper boat, 
and smiles as he watches his paper boats floating passed he...
as dusk approaches, flooding all around, he happily skips home,
although soaked to the skin...that night by the candle light he finishes,
his story of the lost boy, that has found his dreams.
As he writes on.