Harder Shall They Be

When I was a child, I wished to grow old.

For there were quite many things that I was told.

Now tell me. Who likes to do

Always as he is told to?

The fragile head of infinite curiosity

Which knew no bounds

The tender soul, always directed

He wished for crowns.

For a crown or two would have been quite nice.

A king did what he wished.

He sought what he did not have

The curious mind of eight.

The little feet grew

They held more weight

Of fat, bones, muscles and responsibilities

Of memories and loss

Of goals painted gloss

Of fragmented luxuries and hard felt necessities

The tender feet have hardened

Harder shall they be by the end.