What Can I Give My Children

Sometimes I see my children, and I feel a little sad,
to know the things so dear to me that they may never have:
To lay out in their own backyard and gaze up at the stars,
to see the yellow Venus, or the bright red-orange of Mars.
To wade for blocks in a crystal crick or reap lilacs that are free to pick,
in fields that lay unclaimed.
To recognize the folks in town, black or white, red or brown,
and often know their names.
To cherish movie theaters on a summer afternoon, the coolness there was rare,
to travel miles on your bike, or train most anywhere.
Games and shows that you invent,
then play out with your friends.
The hot sunshine of late July,
you thought would never end.
To feel the joy of doing nothing, your time not crammed with strife,
to simply learn to be, to know, to live your life.
To walk in woods, trespassers not, to see with more than eyes,
to spend an August evening catching flashing fireflies.
If I could give them some of this, then happy I would be,
for then I know my children could know more than "Mom",
and maybe understand...me.

I chose this for my first post because it sums up my childhood and the fear that seems pervasive in our society. The fear that keeps our kids from some of the experiences we had. I wrote this last year for the local library's poetry slam.