Fret not, little child,
The monsters under your bed are long gone,
The next monsters you must fear
Lurk within the minds of men.

It enslaves their heart,
And lives off their soul,
Construing their figures beyond recognition.
Turning them into a shell of their former person.

Fret not, little child,
Such monsters are a part of life,
They live within us all and live all too well,
For why else would poets of old admire your innocence,
Your childlike wonder, lost to the seas of time?

– Maya Desdemona