Little Man - by me 1981

This was written about my son in 1981, who is now in his thirties! And I love him as much now as I did then.

Listen to the little man, playing games without any fears
Smiling, laughing
Up and down the stairs he runs
His life before him planned out - the good times and the bad
Expecting everything from each moment, never doubting, always trusting
That all will be well within his world

The innocence that was, now ceases as he learns the facts of life
That Santa doesn't bring his presents and Superman can't really fly
That guns he plays with are imitations, the real ones are abominations
And that he'll have examinations, always being tested to the full
To line the profits of fat corporations
Who want their profits now and again and again and again

Then maybe cynical he'll be - resenting his youthful years of freedom
Of innocence and wild imagination, living almost casually among the debris
Of the lies and deceit around him - having sought the good in everything
Disappointed, hurt and pained - when he's been let down again
Then out of his chrysallis he'll emerge, a powerful potential force within this world
Moulded by the lives around him, to either ease or cause the pain

So please don't disappoint him now...
Just let him live and play his games