Childhood Left Behind Poem by james watkin

Fret not over this wee one forsaken;
Grieve not, for he is returned to you.
In times by dares when overtaken;
As instantly as that stone you threw.

Be not but a little more than shocked.
For his is now your own reflection
Of every naughty secret unlocked
Of misdeeds too good for detection!

He from zones forbidden has returned.
With his blond locks and cheeks a-flush.
Unto him you hasten who was spurned.
Unto yourself with remorse you rush!