The young lad busy poking nose
Standing by a blooming rose
Wondered why the adults were so fancy
Despair wouldn’t leave them until they show they were wealthy
The history books talked about first and last
But never encouraged a child to repeat the valiant past
Teachers around pretend they love questions
But when interacted gives endless punishments
Perhaps it’s the tiny brain feeling wrong
Or maybe the world is by the false song
Copy never, a phrase passed by elders in age
But being different was tagged as strange
In midst of thought, he heard a voice he feared
Late to home and now encountered
MAMA grabs him in her arms and uttered
“When will you grow up, my dear? You had me worried.”
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