When The Fun Ends Poem by Paul Reed

A question that has been troubling me
And I'm sorry to be so blunt
But at what age do you realise
That you've got your vest on back-to-front?

At a young age we seem blissfully unaware
Of the vanity in the ‘grown up' human race
Like the fact you're wearing odd socks
Or that chocolate smears your face

We used to come home with grubby trousers
All dusty from the cinder track
We forgot to bring home our glasses
And our hair was sticking up at the back

Do we suddenly hit an age of realisation
When carefree things to the winds are tossed;
Maybe that's when all the fun ends
And when our innocence is lost