I've been neglecting this wonderfully entertaining feature for too long now, and it's got to stop. So get ready, my double dozen! It's poetry time!
The petulant, angry crying of a child
Fascinates us, the child perhaps wishing
To remain at some enterprise beyond adult sanction.
It irresistibly draws our attention, all of us,
Even other children find
That they cannot avert their eyes.
A child, however, who moans
In wailing desolation, shames us,
We turn away, not wanting to be reminded
Of a pain that we all carry,
Yet cannot express so freely.
Yesterday I heard a young child crying,
Holding nothing back, inconsolable,
A desolate, wailing sound.
Better for me, I thought,
To cry like that,
Better than humming
Sad songs to myself.