What do you do when you find
That things you thought were real, are not?
Is there disappointment
For missed adventures?
Or intense relief
For struggles not had?
Is THAT when you become an adult?
When your hopes, dreams, and fantasies
Are knocked down by cruel reality?
When fairies are child's tales
Ogres and giants just legends
And elves and dwarves are locked up
On pages hardly read?
I guess I'll never be an adult then,
For those things are alive to me,
They jump out of pages
when I open a book,
They are part of me for a while.
And if being an adult means giving this up,Then I'd much rather be a child.