There is a special time of innocence
Which gives protective armour for a child
Before a flood of lies, outright nonsense
Attempts to drown, mislead, make him beguiled
With sick addictions only adults know
And only sick adults prefer them to
Their former joys of: chasing flakes of snow
Playing with sand, watching the sky turn blue.
We must grow up into maturity
But I don’t take as any point of pride
To become wise in bad activity
Which – like strong acid – eats up our inside.
Those innocent of evil are mature
Thus always shall the good on earth endure.


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