Almost every stanza in this poem pairs a painful adult reality with the wish that a child had noticed it, understood it, or kept it at a distance. The first half describes things that look warm on the surface but aren't: laughter that comes with "twisted smiles," faces that are covered, love that slides into hate, games that turn into fate. The repeated line "If only it was... by the child" sounds like regret, as if the speaker wishes someone young had been spared, or had been sharp enough to see the truth sooner.
The second half shifts. Happiness becomes a "blanket" and love a "mask," both ways of hiding. Then the closing stanzas turn to "Let it be," handing the child the job of deciding whether love is real and whether it can last. The mood is wistful and uneasy, with a thread of doubt. The speaker seems unsure love exists at all, and the poem ends on a fragile hope that a child's clear eyes might answer what adults can't.