It is always a tragedy when a child dies
But inside most adults a funeral has taken place,
Secretly and unmourned.
Somehow we think there is no room for two,
For all the child inside might want to dream and do
In the proper world of adulthood.
Adulthood? A dull thud.The child
And the dreams drop dead
Something somewhere told us it had to be so.
But sometimes the child lives on way past its years
And holds our hand,
Just to make sure we don't get lost
For when our resources fail
It is the child who prays for more
With a spirit that is happy to be poor
And when life's complexities
Make all roads impassable
The child's simplicity finds the way
And is hailed as genius-"Why didn't anyone
Think of that before?"
Inside most adults....