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.