Wise Children (Poetry)

Youngest daughter runs to Daddy -
makes like butter wouldn't melt;
manipulates - all smiles and dimples -
scores sly points below the belt;

winds him round her little finger -
bends his will to suit her whim;
trades on sweetness made to measure -
angel kisses on the chin;

listens to the same old stories,
sits enthralled upon his lap -
wonders, as his tale of Alice
spans the generation gap;

plays the game she finds so simple -
schemes to lose a round or two -
calms his mid-life nerves, perceives it's
just a phase he's going through;

thinks the Bogeyman's a figment,
Father Christmas an old fraud,
but accepts, like all wise children,
patience has its own reward;

feigns belief in elves and fairies -
indulges him - as offspring ought -
displays an absolute dependence:
knows that life is far too short.