You're big like a crayon
and still soft
Tufts of hair and enthusiasm
sprout out of you.
First day of every day
which becomes routine.
Never again will freedom ring
No, you're not special.
Its cousin, imagination,
is to be contained now.
Your merit will now
be measured in red.
Classmates dressed samely
putter around, hoarding milk.
This is a truth now
you had no decision in it.
Your experience is ancient
yet for you, almost divine.
You're still so small though,
and quite useless.
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