I watch them wriggling their brand new toes,
Swinging soft arms at some unknown foes;
I watch their little chests heave with life
And ponder on mine: its gains its strife.
The trees have gone from seed to giants
In front of the home where I bugged my parents
For care: baby, infant, toddler on a mission
To understand this world and beyond the horizon.
My head from curled wrapped nappy hair
Has gone through jungle thick to little hair
And the black in the surviving tuft
Starts to thin, leaving a grey so roughed.
This much I realise from the innocent foetus
To the wriggling fellows, to adults roaming cities,
Not prosperity, nor love, nor pain, nor parents can be sure,
But one things is: that one day you’ll be no more.