One day we might not have parents.
Scientifically to be grown in a vat.
Nurtured in an orphanage of robots.
Wanting the human touch.
Wasting away as humanity fades.
Yet, we are still human.
We still have the elders who learned the lore
and remember the days when parents
cuddled them and loved them.
My Mother is but a cell from which I was grown.
My Father the fertilizer who transformed me.
Yet neither are who I am
or will become.
Saturn's Premier Poet 