A Child is born
Like a rose without a thorn
Somewhere a long the way
They forgot how to play

Like a bird that can not fly
Without knowing why
Their wings are clipped
Spontaneity has been stripped

Our rules of society
Do not like variety
It is a “must”
For children to adjust

Give a Child back its wings
To play with their own created things
Let us rely
For them to become the butterfly

To show us their beauty
With skills and talents, not only duty
Let their heart sing their own song
This is the place where they belong