Sonnet to Maturity
Will you return to me, Boomerang I throw
Away from me in anticipation.
Of your quick return I have yet to know,
But it shall to the unfortunate one.
Facing the dark forest of no return,
He knows nothing of his dangerous fate.
With a toy as a boy he used to yearn
For, while playing, surrounded by the gate.
He stands now unaware of the future,
Of the thwacking he will shortly recieve,
Oh how I wish the young lad would mature,
He is still the wee bairn she did concieve,
Wam! but, no crying now nor grimacing
The boy stood unshaken and unflinching.
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