Where Our Children Will Be

Little kids make cups out of water,
And cut with plastic scissors.
What happens when the scissors are metal,
And the paper is bone?
What happens when they grow up,
And change playclothes for white coats,
When they don't deal with teddybears,
But with the lives of beings.

I wonder what you would do,
Dear parents,
If you only knew.
"My baby's gonna be a doctor,"
Your baby's gonna die at age two.

I wonder how you would react,
If someone showed you,
How far your kid's going,
What it kill you simply by knowing?
Oh, if we could see,
Where our children will be.

We would cry if we knew,
Where they're going to go.

*--A poem that makes no sense,
I have no idea where it came from. You don't even have to bother to read...T.L.