Mothers rejoice we’re not full grown
When we call their small wombs our home;
Trimesters and delivery’d
Be more substantial misery.
But they do not see ‘neath the skin
That all their future gals and men
Are spirits long before mature
Who somehow manage to endure
Being stuffed inside cheeky dwarves—
Relieved when their small body morphs
And gives them some more room to stretch
So they have less cause to kvetch.
The spirit, being energy,
The soul’s source of vitality,
Finds that its power’s amplified
When in a wee form it abides.
Thus, kids have endless energy,
Giving us nostalgic envy.