The child, life’s gift, is always with us
The child cannot be but the child. Give the child your precise for life formula
And it will be very strange to him.
The child’s dances are your matured pains
The child’s playfields are your war zones
Understand, sleep is the saviour of the child
While you are unable to sleep sometimes
Wishing the night would pass in a second
So much to do, that life is a very busy street
The child dreams of beautiful things in mysteries
If there be nightmares, they are not the child’s;
These are not of the child’s sacred mind
Someone intruded to make innocence degraded.
Flowers speak of the child in season
As clear blue sky, not overcast,
Visible stars of the new night
The voices of unadulterated nature
You will be a stranger to the child
When you offer your strange gifts
Give the child the child, the best of gifts,
And the child will be the child.