The Word; The Child

Its funny how words are like children.

 When you are sad, they are the weeping fountain. 

The ink, tears, making you proud.

When you are happy, the exclaim your jubilation.

They are the apple from the tree, 

They did not fall too far from.

You.

They can be playful, make you smile,

Angry and painful.

They spring from an impregnated mind.

The thoughts the mother,

The pen the father, 

And the offspring is created.

  

A child you are proud to call your own.

Sometimes though,

You get so fed up, and you think of abandoning them,

For only a moment though.

For the sentiment returns 

And you embrace them as your own again.

The children of your mind. 

Your Beautiful Offspring.