No perfect baby grows without some flaws.
A scrape reshapes a knee, a thorn a thumb,
a list too long to make of minor gnaws
ignores the small dissimilar from plumb.

No child escapes unneeded note of self.
A shadow dims the eyes, a frown the lips,
a sad collection filling hidden shelf
outwaits infrequent happiness eclipse.

No age will be of doubt completely free.
A silence wreaks the heart, a din the ear,
a havoc unforgettable debris
disrupts the help but not the hiding fear.

Misleading labels steer the not yet strong
into the graying strains of hopeless song.

- Robert Stone, 17 April 2011