By Peter L. Flom
A child is born.
Whose child is this?
He shall not know his mother's kiss.
He shall not feel his father's arm.
He shall not be kept safe from harm.
A boy now grows.
What shall he be?
A child does not grow like a tree.
He has no roots, he has no leaves.
He feels no grief, he sheds no tears.
A youth is formed,
Grows straight and tall.
In truth, he is no youth at all.
He suffers no harsh discipline.
He knows no guilt, he cannot sin.
A man is made.
His juices flow.
And who cares where those juices go?
A girl, a car, a well-known street.
10 bucks, 5 minutes, nice and neat.
A child is born.
Whose child is this?
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