Growing Up , August 26, 1997.

There once was a boy

so sad and so coy,

that he always wished he would die.

But death never came,

so life was his game

with which he let time pass-him-by.

It wasn't his plan

to become a man,

he din't even bother to try.

Yet, man he became,

though he's still the same

boy; isn't this nature so sly?

Now he has a son,

whom he loves like none

of you can explain how or why.

And, tortured with fear

of death getting near,

the spark has deserted his eye.

Can he not foretell

that all will be well

when we spread our wings and fly?