Growing up is hard to do.
Especially in environments,
In which so many of an older age...
Refuse to move away,
From their playpens and knitting dens...
To become offended by those accepting,
An adulthood they have chosen...
With a responsibility to defend.
Yet expected they are to babysit,
And tolerate a condoned nonsense shown...
By those entrenched,
In a committed youthful self indulgence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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