I am tall and franchise though,
Yet why I feel I need to grow?
Why do I feel I'm not like them,
Who bustle the roads and beat the drum?
I want to be like the grown-ups are,
Just sell my toys and drive a car.
With kith and kins I want to brawl,
And rack my books from where they sprawl.
I want to manage my own accounts,
And gives and takes and all that counts.
I don't waste paper in sailing boats,
And save it all as bills and notes.
I want to end up all my pranks,
And grow up enough to hold the ranks.
I wish I would drink in lavish pubs,
And no more toony coffee mugs.
With princely pomp, I cover my skin,
And dump all mud in my master’s bin.
With a painter’s brush, I quote each note,
And tear all scrawls that a baby ever wrote.
With all this done I do not cease,
And grow up further as a grown-up grows,
From a black nightingale that sings so dim,
I shout aloud like a flock of crows.