I saw a little thing walking down the street.
It wasn’t walking on its own feet.
I came near.
And dear!
It was a child.
These little things are told to be wild.
They bawl, cry and retort.
They are such a spoilsport.
A child drives every parent insane because of their voice.
Though, a child is not a choice.
Children may be not-so-wonderful when they are born.
But, with our love, they still need to be adorned.
There is a cure!
Give them care for this will make the child calm and assure.
YOU ARE READING
Spilled Ink Poetry
Poetry"The poem is a little myth of man's capacity to make life meaningful." - Robert Penn Warren
