A child is born.
Will this one reap the corn?
They are so innocent when young.
Even language is to them a foreign tongue.
Then they grow old and bent and lame.
Some may wish they never came.
Still we hope someone will come along.
Someone who sings the singer’s song.
There’s nothing wrong with hoping, hope a while.
The truth may lie in a childhood smile.
21st July, 2016