Such a tiny thing
birthing joy.
So silly,
so foolish.
A snowflake, then ten, then more.
Too warm to stick,
too dry to continue.
Such foolish children.

Why can't they be as we.
We require bigger things
for joy.
We don't delight
in the insignificant:
Sunsets and moonrises,
pretty birds and games,
for we are wise.

We will teach them
to be like us.
Serious and forthright.
They will find no joy
in simple things.
They will grow up.
They will abandon joy.
That will be our gift to them.