A Brief Bestiary Poem by Stephen Jackson

To carry the child into adult life
Is good? I say it is not,
To carry the child into adult life
Is to be handicapped.

- Stevie Smith



There are the scientists. They know how to play.
There are the children, who know how to play and how to weep.
There are artists, who play and who purport to weep.
There are misfits, who yearn to play and weep.
And, last of all, come the decent grown-ups
Who have forgotten how to do either.
If, indeed, they ever found out.

Why have we killed the child inside?
Since it is better (we suppose) to forfeit joy than to
Admit the possibility of failure. Better to do nothing
Than to risk a humiliation of mistakes. Instead
We’ll tilt at windmills; and bind our bones with iron
Against the breeze.