We Are The Last Poem by Paul Reed

We are the last of the children
The ones who roamed in the breeze
Felt the sunshine on our backs
That dried our muddied knees;

Our mams would wait for us
To come home late for tea,
Knowing we wouldn't be back in time
Knowing we were free;

And they worried
But in a different way
To the mams who worry
About their kids today;

Sweet and mischievous
Unhindered and wild
Allowed to play and run
Allowed to be a child;

Come with me fishing
For tadpoles in the burn
Come with me wishing,
With so much to learn;

Yes, we are the last of the children
Who didn't rush to grow
The ones who tasted being young
And didn't need to know.