Infância era acreditar que todas as pessoas eram boas, porque as más eram as bruxas e os lobos que sopravam forte para derrubar casas.

Infância era acreditar que soprar uma flor dente-de-leão ao vento, significava que estava a mandar saudades a alguém que não estava perto e por isso um bocadinho de mim iria voar alto no céu.

Infância era acreditar que um dia eu iria viajar no tempo e por isso nunca iria perder ninguém de vista.

Infância era acreditar que todas as histórias tinham finais felizes, porque não fazia sentido não viver feliz para sempre.

Infância era acreditar que amanhã era um novo dia, com novas descobertas e novas amizades para conquistar.

Infância é acreditar que tudo isto pode ser verdade se eu olhar para o mundo com olhos de poesia…

Childhood was believing that all people were good,
because the bad ones were witches and wolves
who huffed and puffed to blow houses down.

Childhood was believing that blowing a dandelion into the wind
meant sending longing to someone far away—
and so, a little piece of me would soar high into the sky.

Childhood was believing that one day I would travel through time,
and so, I would never lose sight of anyone I loved.

Childhood was believing that every story had a happy ending,
because it made no sense not to live happily ever after.

Childhood was believing that tomorrow was a brand-new day,
with new wonders to discover and new friendships to win.

Childhood is believing that all of this can still be true—
if I choose to look at the world through the eyes of poetry.