when I was small merely a child
I could walk in safety on concrete paths
simple things would fit my tiny hands
a walk to the shop was a norm
with threepence knotted in the corner of a hanky.
now I’m older, life is far more difficult,
complex they say, getting worse.
it’s the pace, the rush, the be alert,
I find myself flummoxed daily
by demands to be here be there.
but I still dream of younger years with tiny hands
and safety outside my garden gate.
Thanks to ramblingsfromamum for her input into this poem.
Morpethroad 
you have put the words together well, to be young and safe, to hold the small things…
Thanks RM, and thanks for your part.
Or when you are older…slow down and bring back the actions of childhood.
Yes, though not become childlike, but rather to brave and get out there and enjoy
Mmmmm I like being childlike…not childish 🙂
Good point I like that.