The mind of a child is a thing of wonder, a thing quite powerful
And how it’s lost with the age and time, is a tale quite sorrowful
The sparkling eyes which looked at stars and saw a lion or a ship
Now live downcast, under the fear of sharpness of reality’s whip.
The minds which wandered far and wide, finding treasure trove of tales
Are clamped by wrists to the prison of worry – what if they fail?
And soon the minds will be tethered fast to the ‘real’ world
They study and study and still be fools, for they will learn nothing new
Their dreams and passions will matter not, but what they’ll earn will do.
And thus the wonder of the young mind is crushed, and he learns
Of the things already known, and asked to write them, until he can earn.
That’s the reason why we see no Shakespeare now, you know it don’t you
For if he lived in the present time, he would have a CS degree too.