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In the beginning God created
Shortly thereafter, we mated
To birth our little tykes
With likes, trikes and bikes
We teach a gentle platitude
To counter their nasty attitude
Hoping to become one
A family having fun
But busy they are with the school
Treating us like the doddering fool
They possess all the things
Suburban living brings
And stare at a screen
We pray it’s not obscene
As the time doth truly pass
They grow like weeds in grass
But refuse to mow the lawn
Occupied from dusk ’til dawn
We wait for a while
Just to view a little smile
And yearn for some chatter
The subject doesn’t matter
Then one day they are grown
Launching on their own
Will they make a courtesy call,
Showing care for us at all?
Or retreat to romantic meditation,
To pursue their own procreation?
Yea, the cycle is kept alive
So our species can survive
Yet here we are, your founders
Time slips away, then flounders
But complaining is a tumble to insane
Unleashing grim ghosts and clogging the brain
Therefore if I think, I be
And this be–is truly me.
Published by Jonathan Cring
7 years ago 
