The children we are given
By choice or circumstance
Are carried in on angels' wings
With purpose - not by chance.

Each one is purely crafted
To fit just what we need
For as we teach, so shall we learn
With every nourished seed.

We take possession right away
With best intentions meant
This precious child is ours to keep
Sometimes the rules are bent.

We choose a path and lead the way
Each step is carefully taken
Then plans we make can quickly change
Our path can be forsaken.

Our children make their own paths
Different rhythm - different rhyme
Some stay close beside us
Others leave before our time.

Are not these children precious gifts?
Ah yes, now I recall.
They are not ours to keep.
They are but borrowed after all.
© Bobbie Burnett
To email the author, please click on her name.

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