Children are lovable
To a prideful parent 
Who is just not able
To know devilment 
When it’s committed 
By one’s eye’s apple
 — Who’s too dim-witted 
To prevent dapple 
Effect on one’s child: 
Content with its side, 
No matter how wild
 — Sparing its thick hide 
From rigors of rod
When push comes to shove, 
Plays God, creates sod
 — Is this what’s called love?

And you can be sure
The worm will soon turn 
With feelings of pure 
Hate — seething to burn —