Tiny feet that wander and eyes so clear
Everyone, does he hold dear
His heart devoid of spite
and his love is his might.
Feelings open and in minutes, forgotten
We are older and those good things lie forgotten.
Just a kid, we shall think haughty and might.
But his eyes see the world so white,
Where we see just shades of grey and black.
From him, shall I learn, the world isn’t black?
Instead I teach him to forget innocence
And hence, teach him spite in garbs of sense?
What makes sense, sense or innocence?