Children’s Hour

No longer willing to impeach,
The old have nothing left to teach
The moral certainties of youth.
Convinced that they possess the truth,
They sort the sinner from the saint
By those who have and don’t have taint
Of moral doubt and compromise.
Desiring in their blind surmise
The fruit their eldest parents ate
To learn the taste of mutual hate
And be like gods that claim the light.
But can’t repair their crooked sight,
Will never see their nakedness,
Or learn to doubt their blamelessness.

Louis Hunt

 If you have any comments on this poem, Louis Hunt would be pleased to hear from you.