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The Critic

When she pressed on her glasses and drew the words near
Their shape and their meaning began to ring clear
The humdrum around her then faded away
And her mind drifted back to an earlier day

Where raucous and ready with small expectations
She grew where her people had raised generations
Her youth and her playtime an innocent phase
So simple compared to the modern malaise

How blissful not knowing, she thought with a tear
From schoolhouse to boreen, from house to the pier
Where with waves washing in and with light fading out
They lay and they listened to sounds all about.

The rustlings and chirpings and roll of the lake
Young limbs in young skin where nothing feels fake.
So swift in its going soon lost in the past
But convinced at the time that forever would last.

Disturbed from her drifting she turns and she breathes,
The hall now seems small and her mind ill at ease.
Some children tear by with ambition for fun,
Ready and restless and waiting to run.

For them a more complex demanding surround,
Abstracted from nature and far from the ground.
In mazes of data and bands of distraction,
Time to themselves is just given a fraction.

So what do you think? asks a voice from her right.
She turns and replies with the speaker in sight.
It’s too sentimental, indulgant at best;
It’s clumsy and sloppy and I’m not impressed.

His face drops a little and taken aback,
He stutters Yes maybe, it really does lack.
But don’t be so worried the lady now grins;
It’s about taking part and not about who wins.

So wise from the world here’s a word to the wise-
Take care with the things that you choose to despise.
For people and moments are passing events,
And soon you will wonder where everything went.

Stumbling and fumbling the young man turns amazed,
And reaches to write down her words in a daze.
But when he looks up there is noone to see,
Only kids racing round him and roaring with glee.

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