Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but they are not from you,
And though they are with you, they belong not to you.
You can give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You can house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in a place of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You can strive to be like them,
but can not make them just 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 our bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Sweet Honey and the Flirtations/ Kahlil Gibran