(remember, one of the rules for this game is that the poems have to rhyme. :-))

Childhood remembers me;
But do I remember this?
Surrounded by insecurity,
Or all absorbed in bliss?

When all I knew was new and bright
Was fear or focus found?
When children play, I think they might
Be all the more profound.

"The play's the thing!" the story goes
And I wouldn't argue much
But captured moments uncomposed
Prove that I'm not in touch.

I cannot practice childhood;
Could a child of mine do less?
Could I, so flawed, do them some good?
It's not enough, my best.

Next topic: bugs!