I heard a poem about childhood and cannot find a reference to an author anywhere. If anyone recognizes it I'd be very grateful. The poem goes:
When I was a child, all my days were filled with endless wonder.
When I was a child, I would lie on the dew covered grass and search the vast evening sky for falling stars.
When I was a child, my friends and I would venture deep into the woods and tell tales of the grim reaper,
Who, with sickle in hand, icily searched for his next victim. We weren't afraid; he came only for the old, not us.
When I was a child, I would look to my mother's arms for warmth and my father's eyes for approval.
When I was a child, I wandered when will I be grown
Now I'm an adult, and I wonder, can I ever be a child again?
I only found exactly what you had posted, uncredited, and with the same "wandered" where it probably should be "wondered"