Dear children, we were of no use to you. You wanted us to spend our precious
time in your play. You wanted us, in our play,
to include you. You wanted us to become innocent like you.

Dear children, we only told you that life is a battleground where
we fight endlessly. It was we who sharpened our arms. We
only prompted war. It was us whose anger and hatred made us blind. Dear children, we lied to you.

This is a long night - like a tunnel. From here we can see
outside, and its unclear view. We can see killing and lamentation.
Children, we sent you there. Forgive us. We lied to you
by saying life is a battleground.

Dear children, life is a festival where you are spread out like laughter.
Life is a green tree upon which you are perched as fluttering birds.

As some poets have said, life is a tossed-up ball, and
you are, surrounding it, a gathered group of restless feet.

Dear children, if this is not so, it ought to be so.