It is the end of childhood when we know 
That this or that is in the past, or 
The horse running wild in the gully is 
Free forever in the echo chamber 
Of memory and we are now busy
Unlike our parents, making mistakes 
Of our own and may well come to realize 
That there are no grown-ups.
  
We are mostly embarked on making new 
Illusions of our own, similar to 
Those of our parents, but also different, 
No one can help us with these deceptions 
Of wished-for thinking that occupy us 
Far too much of the time and mislead 
Us to many a seductive dead end 
Until we can say ‘enough’.