for the ones who are growing up
fly by my window,
o time and space
where are you going?
it’s not a race.
people hustling and bustling
like we all care
for one thing that drives us
is the home that we share
with love and laughter
sorrow and tears
kept in high wonder
these beautiful years.
for none we do realise,
for which do we fight,
is what we may finally cherish
if slow down we might.
rainbows and butterflies
come hither yonder,
but sweet youth and tenderness,
won’t come again.
So cherish your youth’s September,
while it still lasts.
for that which comes after,
seems like time passed too fast.
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