Underneath the shade tree,
Where the children play,
Their laughter drifts upon the breeze
Like any other day.

Their innocence we envy,
They play without a care;
They see no social barriers,
With spirits full of flair.

​Hate is not an instinct;
It’s a lesson they are taught.
If only they could stay this way—
But we know that they will not.

​When young, there is no judgment,
No status in their clothes;
They look to us with eyes of love
Before the shadow grows.

​What is it that changes them?
Their needs are pure and small;
The world provides a bounty
To be shared among us all.

​Yet we complicate the simple,
Letting hollow thoughts invade;
We claim to hold the answers,
While we wither in the shade.