A child may be innocent and pure,
with cheek unetched, all possibility,
but I detested being one, for sure
I had to note the mean conformity,
the impotence, the greedy imperfection.

The years elapse along with lapsing chance.
Assuming power all have some selection
of how we’ll be, but only freaks advance
toward truth or wisdom – black and butting sheep –
for injured young the old protect their hearts –
they act as if they know and so they keep
themselves in ignorance of better parts.
Afford me fully grown-up friends, who earn
their way with guts and nerve enough to learn.