When I was a child, I spoke what came to mind
Like she's so fat and I want that now
Like a pigeon looking out a pinhole
The world looks different when you're small
I though babies were like, dropped by the stork
Always wanted to get out the front door
These thoughts were one track
Me, my, mine, how do I get mine back?
Poor me - cry in my corner - I spilled my milk
Twas a life governed by what I feel
But there comes a time in every person's life
When they have the choice to move beyond petty strife
Some think it's something to do with age
But age don't mean a thing okay?
You can be forty and still carry childish things
Like me and my spilled milk and stork's wings
Petty quarrels, wasted time, things taken for granted
This is something that's so understated
So here I am - trying to put away these childish things
It's so hard, and at times I feel like I can't win
But I'm going to keep trying
To put away these childish things.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem