At the dawn, you hold them near,
A doe to fawn, they are your dear,
And as they grow, you watch them flourish,
This gentle heart is yours to nourish,
Piercing cries and babies’ breath,
Remembrance is all you have now they have left,
Where they go, you hope them well,
‘pon life’s deceits you do not dwell,
The choice is theirs and not your own,
For our own faults must we atone,
Be you there to wipe their tear?
Be you there to assuage their fear?
Or ‘pon nape of neck you clench?
Their bastion and you their trench,
Against dangers and likewise lessons,
How can they learn if have they no tensions?
To block out is not to save,
To think this so makes you a knave,
And they too by association,
You who should have been their vacation,
From trial brought as life is wont,
Lowercase should be your only font,
Or else lose them in your turn,
And wonder why your letters burn,
Upon ears bred not for hearing,
As they turn towards gazes leering,
And you are left without,
As worthless parables you flout,
When you could have been their stone,
All you get are dial tones,
So be kind and do be gentle,
Be cautious of your right to mettle,
Let them make their choices own,
So shall your house be ever their home