The break of the dawn.
The beginning of the day.
The rays of the sun.
And they, happy and gay.
Laughter. Naughtiness. They run through the green fields.the knife –edged grass. They care not. They are free. To enjoy the nature.
Soiled shorts. Dicoloured shirt. Bottened wrong.their hair a mess. But their face- A smile. The innocence. The spark. The life. Their eyes. Simple . straight. They talk in the language of love.
Their unattended feet takes them miles. House to house. Field to field. Away. the hands with the proof of their task. They eat. Hands of a true children.They climb trees, hunt nest, chase dogs, swim lenghts. They know not, the hatred alive. They know not the love deprived. They roam. They fly. The free birds. Their music the breeze. Their only competition the wind. Their canvas the nature, and paint the familiar brick brown red. Every morning, noon, evening. They appear like that occasional nightingale. Head down, hands dug deep in their pockets. They smile in a forgivable way.
The apple of the eye. The heart of the village. The love of the neighbours. the friend of every creature. They know all. They love all.
They are the welcomed intrusion, the enjoyable irritation, the joyful illusion.Love all. Loved by all.Gods true reflection. Natures own perfection. Everyones secreat desiration. growing up.and i wish they never grew up. Those TWO BROTHERS.
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