They are not children long less we, mistaken,
view their charms as something taken,
something ‘stolen’ from their innocence
which is nothing real and only hints
at our guilt and crying shame
which looks eager for others to blame
for the simple march of time and tide
at whose foot we all will abide.

Look to the corpse-like living
who, to youth, are always giving
the presumption of an end justifiably reached.
        When youth is nothing but a far, thin beach
landed upon; afoot or on the roll.
Landing half dead or hale and whole.

Beware the Siren song of youth;
the false virginity, the baby’s tooth
for it is not the child, we have been,
that is the gift of original sin.

‘Cute’ is not a place to stay.
Beautiful is best beheld from far away.
We are the road that leads us on.
We are the sunset that precedes the dawn.

We are not born to stay the child
Youth is for the forever beguiled.