Children in life start with play and delight
when everything’s new, fascinating and bright.
Smiles and tears alternate thru the days,
a time all exciting for learning life’s ways.
In an absence of cumbrance they watch the parade
of events, things and people, a great promenade.
But them to the momement when restless becomes
the dominant craving for juicier plumbs.
Observing parades is no longer enough.
They want to join in for themselves with such stuff.
No longer spectating but part of the game,
our children step onto the path, staking claim
to share the procession of life’s forward thrust
with steps matching others and growth as a must.
But some march too slowly and can’t stay in stride
as jealous resentment starts mocking inside.
The greater the feelings of falling behind,
whispers the fear, “I’m not the normal kind.
Life’s moving too quickly refusing to wait
while I need more time for increasing my gait.
The marcher slow-footed then steps out of line
feeling loss and betrayal, “What’s there isn’t mine.”
Within the procession a new voice is heard
“This pace is for turtles yet I fly like a bird.
Round in circles I soar while the marchers below
refuse to move faster, their pace is too slow.”
With increasing spirals the soul flys around
enchanted by haste til the procession’s not found.
With a similar madness about life’s steady pace
those too slow or too fast find it hard to embrace.
For a similar impatience imposes its own will
with steps to the side as the price on the bill.
While conforming to group-think is not always wise
conforming to life as it is brings the prize.