Children are the wind,
gone so soon,
but pleasant and lovely,
like the light of the moon.
It's adults who're the problem.
They don't understand
that a child's life is a story
in which they each have a hand.
They could be a rough touch,
a chapter of anger or fear.
They could be a trusted friend,
a chapter of love that's sincere.
Remember youth kindly-
they're the book, you're the pen-
write them a good story,
by being their friend.
written 8.16.o7
Rebekah Gamble
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/children-31/
