Juveniles, men of low key in the society
Undoubtedly women would echo the same
A tale of fine-tuned rhythms
Played by the exquisite orchestra
An attempt to cut the breadth of vibrant young men and women
A species so rare, on the verge of extinction

Mocked by all and sundry
In a world of their own
All they have is peace to tape

Turn the coin,
Not so for non-juveniles
Who do nothing but boast of their ability to tangle and mingle
Spitting it in the faces of juveniles
Deficient in the charisma they have, so they claim
Little do they know, juveniles have a lot to boast of

The blissful grooming life that orients their minds to a land of thoughts
Thoughts that they gladly convert to pages
Pages that soothe the wounded soldiers of discontentment

The art of a craftsman imbedded in their blood
A mammoth of time have they
To dine at the table of skills
Piloting them to a land of untapped treasures

When you find them,
Juveniles, as the society calls them,
Salute them for the life they enjoy
A treasure not to be mocked but admired
Worries are not in their pages
Thorns of blue ticks, no calls and pet naming
Have no place in their land of solitude

Respect a juvenile, he has a costly balm
Nourishing the hearts of all circles
A species, worthy of being admired
Custodians of peace from the island
Proudly islanders