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THEY ARE OURS

by W. Mahlon Purdin

It's a busy, busy world.
It's a rude, rude world.
It's a "Hi," "Bye" world.
The sirens screech bad news in the night,
We seem to lose wrong and right;
Everywhere you turn you hear, "My bad."
And the children seem to be sort of CSI sad.

They are watching our every move.
They are listening to our every word.
They worry we are their future.
We hope they are ours.

When we cross-reference our information
It's a pretty good start; takes a stout heart.
We push and stress like constipation,
We tangle and rangle and pull ourselves apart.

It's a world of games and shames.
It's a five star, way-too-far world.
It's an all-new, see-through world.
Careful what we wished for, a consolation,
The family photos seem to stand still.
There is a ringing in our ears;
It could be the wind, or it could be the years.

They are watching our every move.
They are listening to our every word.
They worry we are their future.
We hope they are ours.

01/18/2008

Posted on 11/23/2008
Copyright © 2026 W. Mahlon Purdin

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