Our infancy still reflecting from our eyes but we don't see
Little obsessions that formed when we were toddlers
Have been hardened into the surface of our personalities
Shaping our pleasantness and our need for conflict we squabblers
Little kids we are, knocking about tongues in mouths
like loose opinions floating in rooms
Like anticipation in the soon
Just meaningless fleas in the tines of broken brooms
Children we are, all in god's scoop
Doing the 2nd or 3rd rotation of reincarnation's steep loop
Youth tickles the mind even as age assumes
Children we are till our day of doom
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