You cannot see the walls that divide your hand <br />From his or hers or mine when you think you touch it. <br /> <br />You cannot see the walls because they are glass, <br />And glass is nothing until you try to pass it. <br /> <br />Beat on it if you like, but not too hard, <br />For glass will break you even while you break it. <br /> <br />Shout, and the sound will be broken and driven backwards, <br />For glass, though clear as water, is deaf as granite. <br /> <br />This fraudulent inhibition is cunning: wise men <br />Content themselves with breathing patterns on it. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Stephen Fryer<br /><br />Arthur Seymour John Tessimond<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nursery-rhyme-for-a-twenty-first-birthday/
