Backpacking Through Hell
A memorial to mom and dad
Copyright 1993 Rey Barry
It used to be that every year was better than before,|
The baby walked where once he used to crawl across the floor.
He started school and swelled with pride as curiosity burned,
Each year brought new delights; a child's mind began to fill,
Then came the teen-age years and though no one was at fault,
"My room's too small, my bed's too big, my clothes are a disgrace,
His hair turns green, his hair turns blue, he never locks a door,
"Why can't we have a house like Jim's with all those swings and stuff?
He strives to get it all at once, convinced beyond a doubt
The playmates from the world outside are all-important now,
He talks to family now and then, alert for just a minute,
The first time this all happens it comes as quite a shock
It was different then, we like to think, we didn't go this far.
Each generation sees more change, the one before saw less,
When this backpacking through hell is done only then we'll know
If they come home, did we do right? If not, did we do wrong?
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