How can a child understand adults' cold world?
When all he wants is to play with a warming father
Who cares if his hands ached?
I mean, had to work everyday???
Was it so important, after all? I asked myself
Couldn't he just stay and play?
Fears of a child
Who can explain?
Are they real or just imagination? I wondered
Fear that is mixed with comfort and familiarity
A child is a child
No pretending,
Never leave for tomorrow
What can be done today, I would say
Kisses not given are lost kisses
A child's feelings are bound to present
Now and today only exist
Tomorrow is just a word
A vague thought
And who knows about it?
I know not

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<style type="text/css"><!--.quote {width:468px; padding: 6px; border: solid 1px #456B8F; font: 10px helvetica, verdana, sans-serif; color: #222222; background-color: #ffffff}.quote a {font: 13px arial, serif; color: #003399; text-decoration: underline}.quote a:hover {color: #FF9900; }//--></style><div style="float:left;padding:5px;"><img src="/" width="50" alt="" /></div><div class="quote"><a href="http://www.autores.com.br/200809249519/Literatura/Poesias/response-to-qthose-winter-sundaysq.html" target="_blank">Response to "Those Winter Sundays"</a><br />Qua, 24 de Setembro de 2008<div align="right" style="width:468px"><p style="text-align:right;">© 2010 - <a href="http://www.autores.com.br/" target="_blank">Autores.com.br</a></p></div></div>

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