Dear Child,

 

I want you to come into the world

And I don’t mind if you cry

For it means that you can breathe

It means you won’t die

 

I will hug you to slumber

And although you’ll sometimes smell

I will hold you tighter

And look after you well

 

And perhaps when you’re one,

A little more or less,

You’ll toddle around,

The way that makes people say, “Bless.”

 

And then you’ll talk to me,

Crazy little tales,

And you’ll learn to read of worlds,

Full of fairies, dragons and whales

 

And I will take your picture,

On your first day at school,

When you’re three years old,

All your classes are cool

 

I’ll remember your first birthday party

With all of your friends,

Four candles on your birthday cake,

You’ll never want it to end,

 

But then you’ll grow up,

And at six or seven,

You’ll learn your religion,

Aim for paradise and Heaven,

 

And at that time, too, you’ll express yourself,

Choosing your own clothes and hair,

And my life will be a cycle, day in, day out,

Of helping you choose what to wear,

 

Did I waste my life the day you turned eleven?

You have grown and matured a lot,

Starting secondary school in September,

What you get is what you’ve got,

 

But child, I dread the day you are thirteen,

For then you’ll no longer be a child,

But a teenager, moody or perhaps not,

But no doubt, rebellious and wild,

 

You’ll have to shape your future,

And I know there’s lots of GCSE tests,

But revise hard and you might realise,

What you can achieve is the very best,

 

And then you’ll turn sixteen,

And I’m afraid I’ll let you go,

Perhaps you had your first kiss - butterflies included,

Even though I said no,

 

And then graduation comes,

And so do all the tears,

Because you’re an adult now,

And have to throw away petty fears,

 

You have to pay your taxes

Right up to sixty-five

(Then they say you can’t work,

Even though you’re still alive)

 

But before the ‘golden age’ (pensions!)

You will meet the ‘one’

Get married and have children,

A house with a daughter or a son

 

Perhaps I’ll have grandchildren,

Run across my lawn,

And I’m thinking about this,

Before you’re even born.