When I was just a little child
The days were kind,the months were mild
I played with dolls made of clay
Which breathed in my hands night and day
Now middle-aged and in my prime
I watch the children rock and rhyme
The steps unsure,their songs quite strange
Living their lives beyond our range
Their toys are guns from another land
Rat-a-tat of a plundering band
Shooting the down as is done in the films
Coming from the seas in rolls and reams
The world is upside down like a bat of night
Waiting for the hands to set it right.
