Children Poem by Robert James Busby

Children

How boring it is to be selfless for a child.
The very thought of having one
To assuage the waves of boredom is almost an injustice.
Bearing in mind that the child
Appreciates almost nothing,
Not even the genius and beauty of something
You learned to love or worship.

The very indifference makes you question
Your own life and decisions.
And you are left with the thought
Did I really come all this way
To have my identity crushed by a child?
Who has, even at a young age,
More hope than I
If not understanding.