Their love, beauty and innocence,
Can touch your heart, your soul.
Eyes shining, they watch your every move.
Waiting for your smile,
Your arms to warm and comfort them.
It's the little things they love the most.
Bright colours, shinny beads, a funny face.
Like fine connoisseurs they watch,
And with a spooky sense of knowing,
In moment they can dismiss you,
Or choose you, to be their special one.
Their time so limited,
Soon the grip of adulthood will rob them of their
Play and spontaneity.
Then, they will have to learn to play a different game.
The game called life.
Elaine Battersby's Other Poems
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