Perhaps I'm slightly envious of you;
Perhaps I wish that I could be contained
Within that very private world that few
Can understand, or reach once they have gained
Their teens. By some strange paradox, you live
Within my world whilst I am little more
Than shadow on the edge of yours. I give
The food and care that you are asking for,
I help with homework, make-believe I'm wise,
But only now and then communicate
My own uncertainties, or recognise
The bogus image of the adult state.
Yet sometimes, off my guard, I catch your eye
And know that we're both children, you and I.
