They Were Born in the Wilds

I'm writing again

they were born in the wilds
making daisy crowns and chasing butterflies
and their laughter carried over sunsets
and over mom calling "dinner".
they lived simply.

they swam at the creek,
time rushing by all at once and slowly
and age a concept made by man.

there were downed trees
whose logs served as pews
and the wilds became religion
no conventional god could conceive.

i was a child
and i grew up slow and fast.
i was the creek
and i, too, may be a concept made by man.

Author's Note

This is the first poem I've written in nearly a year. How is it?