Children - Poem by Bernard Franklin
Perfect little people,
small clones of imperfect parents.
Our dearest treasure.
We learn from them at the same time,
as they are taught by us.
We impart to them meaning, wisdom and truth,
they give to us unconditional love and trust.
There moods are unfathomable to us,
one minute their happy and laughing,
the next their screaming and shouting,
and pulling their hair out by the roots! .
Like us they are clingy and needy,
for affection and attention.
There understanding of things around them is so limited,
that we are the centre of their world.
We as adults have a strong inbuilt tolerance,
(but only for our own children)
it’s like an onboard safety valve,
so that when we are pushed to the limit by our kids,
it stops us from eating our own offspring! .
The drive within us to procreate is powerful,
And so to create these amazing creatures,
that steal our hearts from us,
as soon as they are born.
As they grow up into little people,
we can no longer wrap them up in cotton wool.
They must now learn from their own mistakes,
and scare us parents half to death in the process.
In later life being a grandparent,
must be the greatest joy of all,
as we sink into our own second childhoods,
so that when we are finished,
spoiling and ruining our grandkids,
we simply pat them on the head,
and give them back to mum and dad.
Finally when we become old,
our lives turn full circle,
and our children become our own pseudo parents.
Caring and looking after us,
long into our dotage years.
Then at the end of life when we die,
we all once again become children,
Children of God.
Comments about Children by Bernard Franklin
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You