I met my teenage self the other day, <br />She stepped out of the note-books that I'd kept <br />And looked at me accusingly. Except <br />In trivialities, there was no way <br />I'd played the part that she had meant to play. <br />Hers was a mind unwilling to accept <br />That dreams could fail, or people prove inept, <br />Or good intentions suffer feet of clay. <br />My struggling protestations seemed uncouth, <br />Contrasted with the simple clarity <br />With which her innocence expressed the truth. <br />The only sign of progress seems to be <br />That, whereas I admire my clear-eyed youth, <br />Her understanding couldn't stretch to me.<br /><br />Mary Spain<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-acquaintance-3/
