Children
Harry Martinson 1931
A group of children play here – the wind cleans the sky,
the clouds dance.
Someone flings rocks, someone helps an ant home,
someone throws the hazel spear through a spider’s web;
Some caress lovingly – a boy and girl,
explore the skin’s smoothness, blush red,
feel giddiness, kiss with red mouths.
The wind cleans the sky, the trees sway,
The children dance in unison – in group ecstasy.
Male and female buds live on the trees;
from the same trunk they emanate all around.
The wind, the wind! The Children, the children!
Don’t bring Lenin in here, don’t bring Ramakrishna,
Come with humility
Learn the important improvisations of wildness.
New origins are born with each child.
Come! the sea murmurs
Almost wild children – a thousand possibilities
Play marbles on the shore.
‘The Procession of Memories’
Selected Poems 1929-1945
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