So sweet the child that does not scream ,
but rests content as he knows his Father knows best .
That does not run at tempting sounds ,
that pull his heartstrings to melodies that aren’t so sweet ,
and drum marches to a different beat ,
that echoe all around .

That listens to a quiet voice ,
not the din the worlds renoun.

That eats off a dinner plate that’s full of love and not of hate ,
and books that makes one contemplate the years that are yet to come.

And so the rattle falls .

But  we are not content ,
and seek a world that will bend to every thought we dare not keep ,
and we wish we had never left .

But those thoughts are bitter sweet ,
and they fester when ill at ease .
And for all the time spent on the floor ,
we gather to our saviour Lord ,
to draw crawling to his arms once more .

When all we can see are legs and chairs ,
bruised egos and silent prayers ,
and our loving saviour .