terça-feira, 27 de fevereiro de 2007

Poetry that does not rhyme: Blonde haired twins

Still small and cute.
Innocent and happy children.
Looking to the world like it was the first time.
Holding hands to their nanny.
Safe and curious about the world they see and admire.
One step after another.
They keep on trying to walk through.
Trying to walk without falling.
Strangers look at them.
Admiring and smiling to those little angels.
Those small creatures, that one day will be older.
They look at them.
And the only thing that goes on their mind is a sad fact.
Won’t those angels lose their natural beauty, all over the years?
Won’t they grow up and change their angelic hair, face and smile?
On that moment, everyone wished they never had to grow.
They wish those little blonde twins would be little angels forever.
But we have to grow up.
We cannot be children forever.
At a certain point of our lives, we just grow.
We stop looking at the world curious.
We stop holding hands to ours nannies.
We stop being small and beautiful angels.
And let us grow.
Let us say no to Peter Pan.
Let us admit that growing up is a part of ours life’s.
Let us smile and say that childhood were great times.
Great times that will never come back.
But great, no question about it.
Smile for the world grown up.
It’s yours and only yours.

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