I can't stop you falling
When you're not in my arms;
I don't hear you crying
When you're in foreign lands.
I can't hear you calling
To me from afar,
And I can't spread a balm
To cure cuts and your scars.
Your plight's universal,
But personal to me,
Your growing pains hurt
When you learn to be free.
But,
If I could just hold you,
Behold and enfold you,
The first thing I'd do
Is probably scold you.