A child is innocent,
A grown up is not.
The child is free; bright and clear
The man is full of hope, pride and fear
Of loosing acquired possessions.
For the child; there are no obsessions.

Why can’t humans remain children?
Why can’t they see goodness in all things?
Why must they follow
What they like; and from dislikes;
Why must they flee?

Why not accept life’s vicissitudes?
Why must these be labelled by personal attitudes?