Treasured child

Strike, strike, succeed,
Born at last the presence comes,
Radiant and beautiful,
The newborn glows,

Focus of adoration,
As they take him to the crib,
Lay him down tenderly,
The infant grows,

Soon the crib is gone,
Child has grown so fast,
He leaps around the room,
No stranger any longer,

His touch is gentle,
As he passes,
Nurtured he ages quick,
And instant by instant,
baby grows stronger,

Soon he lets him self out,
And runs amuck down the street,
Untamed and wild,
The little one is gone,

Maturity is reached,
And theres no stopping him,
As he ventures and explores,
Growing bigger still,

And then hes gone,
With no retrieving,
All thats lefts his sticky trail,
And they find his tiny form,
Flickering out of existence,

His life peters out,
Taken down by ruthless justice,
And his parent is sad,
as she looks down to what is left,

From her tiny treasured match,
To her wee bonfire of joy,
And her blazing inferno,
Proudest mother cries,
All thats left is ashes,
And that trail of broken chaos,
But mother has succeeded,
And child returns to her arms. . .