Children

In so many ways we remain young, 
Mere children at heart before those who have borne us 
Nay not just borne but raised us 
Those who found us in the ashes 
Dusted our tail feathers 
Those who dressed our bruises 
Those who opened old, festering wounds to dress them and heal them 
Those who taught us the sound of our own voice 
Those who found in us the spark of a raging fire 
Those who brought us out of the reverie of misery 
Those who tried us by fire and made jewels from rocks 
Those who cut away at our conscience 
Chipped little piece by piece of grime off 
Those who taught sincerity by practice 
Those who taught how many kinds of love there are 
Those who fathered the fatherless, mothered the motherless 
Those who breathed mercy into cold, hardened hearts. 
Humility is the only gift worthy enough to be given to them 
A life of being that person they made you the only ode worthy to be given to them 
Times come and times go 
But in so many ways we remain young 
Our heads bowed 
Not before those who have borne us 
But before those by whom we were raised