And as the Sun goes down on another day,
I’ve seen the Boys and Girls at play,
They play at War, sometimes at Peace,
The Booms and Bangs that never cease.
In the Century gone I saw of two,
The bloodiest fights I ever knew.
Don’t get me wrong, It’s not all War,
The Children’s Hearts can sometimes soar,
With Music, Poetry, The Artists skill,
To every Heart it’s pleasure fills.
And Books by Authors Heaven-Blessed,
All Prose as such, Time does attest.
I’ve seen Centuries come and Centuries go,
The Toys they make and the difference show.
They sometimes are an unruly crowd,
Their habits strange and the Fashions loud.
For the Playground is a Boisterous Place,
With every Belief, Colour And Race.
And so at Night when all is said,
The Children get sleepy and off to bed,
And in the Morning I’ll rise again,
To see once more their Childish games,
Their exploits I’ll view from Land to Sea,
All Triumphs and Woes ,
And more skinned-knees.