Deprivation Is For Me What Daffodils Were

I Am Awakened Each Dawn Increasingly To Fear.

Death Is No Different Whined At Than Withstood.

My Mother, Who Hates Thunderstorms, Holds Up Each Summer Day And Shakes It Out Suspiciously, Lest Swarms Of Grape-dark Clouds Are Lurking There.

Most People Know More As They Get Older: I Give All That The Cold Shoulder.

Above All, Though, Children Are Linked To Adults By The Simple Fact That They Are In Process Of Turning Into Them. For This They May Be Forgiven Much. Children Are Bound To Be Inferior To Adults, Or There Is No Incentive To Grow Up.