Through the eyes of a child

When I was young

As yet unsung

Every word I wrote

I thought was fit to quote

Every stanza, a bonanza

With every poem and every song 

I felt that I could do no wrong

I was the master 

Now the times, they have changed 

And my thoughts have rearranged

Now all my work goes through a prism

 Through the mill of criticism

 Now every stroke and every tap

 Seem to me just like crap

I wish, I wish, I wish I might 

 See my work in a different light

I think I could halt my demise

 If   I could see my work through different eyes

 It would not be so reviled

If I could see my work through the eyes of a child