Touched by the Hand

As a child with a vivid imagination. Once upon a
night with whispers of felicity and candlelight.
Touched by the hand, feeling the winds about my
shadow. Listening to the silence at my window
of a cricket, playing peek-a-boo. And now, as I have
grown older, hopefully, a little wiser. The candle
grows shorter, and my pocket full of posies has
faded into midnight dreams of felicity.