Sit On Those Hands

An innate spring of life the spirit spurs fain The happy veins when you see these faces. A love that tramples any storm. Life is A cheap offering just for these offsprings. Such pull puts the brain on a thin thread. Blurs What's right and meekly thrust the most wrong turn. It makes men make moves to see them unscathed Not aware the right wound is all it takes. Most times we fear what the world might do them. Not noticing we could be their worst friends. So we keep them from the ledge with lies true Only to be stung at the end by much good. The fragile hands will get fried, we retort. Turning then to fresh toys that can wash plate. We then blame and expect them to game what they Were not taught. Forgetting we are at fault. This dainty love has thorns; lammed if we try To sit on our hands. They should reap their seeds. See life as a bed of both pines and mines. Then can we arrests regrets ere it gets dim.