Bliss

A child is happy,
He knows not what lies before,
He dwells not upon the past,
In the present does he live,
Happy and peaceful,
God's work of art.

As time passes,
And he learns the ways
of this world,
The so called tricks of trade,
His ever present smile,
No longer adorns his lips;
A relic of the past.

And we call him learned,
Knowledgeable in worldly ways,
A proper gentlemen, we say,
When he deftly flatters,
And we feel proud of how adept,
He is at controlling his emotions,
Of bending them to his will.

Was this really part of His plan?
Or is a child's ignorance really bliss.