“ Of The Children ”~ be life’s lot ~

Who are these children

Man recognized not,

Though too be then

But a child fraught,

As adult apprized

More often forgot,

When the more wise

Yet forever the child,

None the less be life’s lot!

                                                                 for my friend Hülya N Yılmaz

 

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8 thoughts on ““ Of The Children ”~ be life’s lot ~

    • You got it Paulette…! So do I love that, and the idea of it being so true, in spite of the fact that we play grow-up to hide what we really are, thus so until we reach that age of obvious wrinkles, colourless hair, and memory limits. Thus once more we can communicate with the child and the children, and once again the child within, that remains, as it always has been, in spite of our denials and self imposed blindness throughout supposed adulthood.

      Jean-Jacques

  1. To live each day with the wonder of anticipation, the joy of curiosity, the hope of embracing all that life has to offer. “Of the children….”

    • Yes my dear Rebecca… that is of what I speak, the part that grows out of and within the everlasting child, all we living creatures (including us so called humans) whether we allow it to surface or sadly not, it is a complete part of us from birth to death. It is the sole reality that permits us to survive what man is destructively capable of doing to himself and his fellow being. That which he ceases not to increasingly display, physically, intellectually and spiritually! But thanks to the powers that be, we have a saviour that is beyond man’s reach, that of the child within each of us, being that of the children of which I wrote. So we have a choice, which is to allow its and their active presence…!

      Jean-Jacques

  2. How can I thank you, dear friend, for walking on the bridge of our connection yet once again: your poem and mine but then also this precious gift? Isn’t it that birth-to-death-child in us – once as innocent, as untainted as those who are now transforming into adults, our only cocoon to where we resort to remember and relive our once-intact-purity? Thank you for your beautiful poem.

    • How can you thank me? Your acceptance of my poetic scribbles, and words of sharing and connection, be the very essence of thanks for this my humble gesture of friendship, lest one forget the child that lives within all of us is there, as well to guide us out of the shadows of adult pain and misgivings. Be well my friend, thus so not to loose even but a second of the good that means to follow, in our ever diminishing one go around time .

      Jean-Jacques

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