The Child

A mystic word to get through. Yet we boast.
Don't we stoop when it pricks? Powerful the word
to make restless, yet there it's unconcerned.
To me? why? She as a bait, continues
to grip. She's not more than my fellow being!
Shame! It too gazes at and feels her grace.
I am much more matured but often
lose my face. A smile mocks at far bett'r thoughts.
Wisdom fails: iron pieces yield to magnet,
So goes my feelings! Pray Thee, bid me move
with them as do the petals in water,
but as a child. Innocence can't be trained!
Create no women or do transform us all
As babes that age's meanness can ne'er touch.