I pulled out a favorite read today, and like wrapping myself in the comfort of a well-worn quilt, I read once again the words of Kalil Gibran.

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house theier bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your
You may strive to be like them, but seek not
to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and he bends you with his might
that his arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so
he loves also the bow that is stable.

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