Nada

Snapshots of babies tell you
nothing of who’ll they grow
into as prime-time adults,
nor of how much they’ll suffer

and/or cause others pain,
nor of whether in turn they’ll breed
and take such pictures too,
nor whether grey-haired, senile

they’ll need taxpayer millions
in their countdown to the grave,
nor of how they’ll be forgotten
as the centuries pass –

but for now, let smiling parents
circulate with pride
images which presage  
nada, but still inspire

a kind of happiness
which spreads like a disease
and which somehow briefly changes
everyone, everything.


Tom Vaughan

 
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Tom Vaughan  would be pleased to hear them