Growing Strains Poem by William Coyne

Let's suppose you are only six years old,
your life is as sweet as clover honey,
you want some pleasant way to pass the time,
but no one's bestowed you any money.

You have climbed every tree within sight,
explored all your nooks and your crannies,
went up all the hills and kept whole your crown,
escaped beloved guardians and nannies.

You eye the dirt road forbidden to cross,
inching nonchalantly nearer to it,
looking around, with feet dug in the ground,
you burst to the other side with true grit.

And just as quickly, you speed right back,
uncaught, undamaged, full of a child's pride,
you strut back into your house for lunch,
you mother suspicious of your bold stride.

You are now your own assertive person,
you have conquered the world's greatest danger,
you violated the rule without being captured,
to innocence you now are a stranger.

You're almost all grown up now.