Childhood is like that citadel
That crumbles as we become of age.
The bricks of innocence break.
And the mortar of soft skin wrinkles.
The legs that couldn’t reach the cabin
Once,become sleek enough to fetch
That jar of jam.
The mind that couldn’t conjure,
Rational thoughts and opinions.
Now critiques the world.
Such is the citadel that breaks,
With time. With age.

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