Children push you to the far edge
Of the place where our coping strategies reside.
The take the food out of your mouth
And never give you a moment's peace.
They scrape all your patience reserves
From somewhere deep inside the cavern of your soul.
Maybe more than they give.
And we are supposed to say that we wouldn't change it.
But perhaps we would
On those days when you are dragging yourself
Through the life
That you carefully planned,
And worked so hard for.
It might not be a story of regret.
It's a story of remorse
In the sense that now you bear
Responsibility for the whole world
Because its potential
Lives in your heart.