Speaking with Child Protective Services

The younger sort of parents cannot share.

Their fruit is wrapped, unblemished in their care.

What 'nurture' is to them seems 'cage' to me.

Their children march along the well-marked path.

At scheduled time, the kids take scheduled bath.

Confined and meek, but clean, they know no wrath--

But wrath awaits without, you must agree.

The hothouse flower from conditions mild

By insect jaws is very soon defiled,

For safe the garden; dangerous the wild.

Within my sight, my children wandered free.

They tested brutal fact against mere will.

Of cuts and broken bones they took their fill.

--I don't allow experience to kill--

And clever fish! They thrive in hostile sea!

My youngest pretty boy is slightly marred.

The eyebrow on his right is clearly scarred.

His climbings led to tumble on the hearth;

I stitched his wound and let him wiser be.