I want to be six again.

  I want to go to McDonald's and think it's the best
  place in the world to eat.

  I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make
  waves with rocks.

  I want to think M&Ms are better than money 'cause you can
  eat them.

  I want to play kickball during recess.

  I want to stay up on Christmas Eve waiting to hear Santa
   and Rudolph on the roof.

  I long for the days when life was simpler, when all you
  knew were your colors, the addition tables, and simple
  nursery rhymes, but it didn't bother you, because you
  didn't know what you didn't know, and you didn't care.

  I want to go to school and have milk and cookies time,
   snack time, recess, gym, and field trips.

  I want to be happy because I don't know what should make
   me upset.

  I want to think the world is fair, and everyone in it is
  honest and good.

  I want to think Mommy and Daddy will always be there, and
  people only die on TV and in the movies.

  I want to be six again.

  I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life, and be
  overly excited by little things, like water ice.

  I want television to be something I watch for fun, not
  something I use for escape from the things I should
  be doing.

  I want to live knowing the little things I find exciting
  will always make me as happy as when I first learned them.

  I want to be six again.

  I don't want to see world as a whole, but rather be aware
  of only those things that directly concern me.

  I want to be naive enough to think that if I'm happy, so
  is everyone else.

  I want to walk down the beach and think only of the sand
  beneath my feet, and the possibility of finding that blue
  piece of sea glass I'm looking for.

  I want to spend my afternoons climbing trees and riding
  my bike, and letting the grownups worry about time, the
  dentist, and how to find the money to fix the car.

  I want to wonder what I'll do when I grow up, not worry
  what I'll do if this doesn't work out, or how I'll
  ever escape this crummy job.

  I want to have dog I can talk to, or if I can't have a dog,
  this caterpillar will do.

  I want that time back. I want to use it now as an escape. So
  that when my computer crashes, and I have a mountain of
  paperwork, a screaming boss, a depressed spouse, three weeks
  'till payday, 11 months 'till vacation, a prostate exam at
  6PM, and second thoughts about so many things, I can travel
  back and build a snowman without thinking about anything except
  whether the snow sticks together, and what can I possibly use
  for the snowman's mouth?

  I want to be six again.