Portrait of a Child. Who's eyes are these? As free as you please a closeup of a child playing, searching? Who's thoughts were those? Me First. I'm thirsty mama poor mama. The child, well protected from the wintery days, the Summer haze of his wife, yet to be realized in his eyes he sees tomorrow's skies. Who will question innocence? The child was innocent. Not knowing how well his life was spent, might find himself only too soon old, bent. If he had known the changes, the wrong decisions made in youthful haste. Might the small smile, visible in his eyes, have been displaced? Even erased.