Let us pretend, for a moment, dear reader. Let us pretend that this poem was written by a child, a very intelligent child of eight perhaps, or a pretentious one at twelve, or even older. Yes, think that this was written by a child, and you shall spare the author the embarassment of looking back.


We work to live
We live to work
We work for bread and meat.
We live in shame
We die in joy
And eat and eat and eat.

And where we live
We put up walls
Keep off the grass! Don't touch!
Parallel streets
Inidentical lands
Originality's worth much.

We burn great forests,
Yet feel great pride
By planting a single tree.
And as babies starve,
We feel great joy,
'Cause Willy the whale's been set free.

Generous hearts
Give generous cheques
To charities every week
Yet is it too much to ask
To grant some change
To the homeless guy on the street?

Fools without
Self-preservation
Waste their lives on guns and glory
Deaths of Heroes:
Dulce et Decorum
Est pro Patria Mori.

This is the world I live in
This is the world I know
This is the world I hate
And love,
I reap what others sow.