To gaze up at and appeal to. To look up to grown-ups everyday. That is the wonder of childhood. To adore and immortalise the old no matter how frail, with memories and perplexities of the simpler days without the superficial sways and the adult haste we live… in haste. Naive love and hate, filled with awe for days when the world is yours without true opposition or debate. That was childhood, our wonder days, when free is free or we pout and dictate. World leader cannot hate, the older ones envying our bliss. No strings to favours or demands that hurt. Protection is the mandate and we’ll love for it, in the sweet days of childhood when we’re all truly free.