Saturday, 11 April 2015

J...Jumping into Puddles

A few weeks ago I was walking along the sidewalk, a woman and her young son ahead of me. He saw the puddle at the edge of the pavement, partially covered with a thin sheet of ice. It was too much to resist. He stamped his foot in the puddle, breaking the ice, covering his boots in mud.

I could see his mother shake her head as she pulled him away and continued on. I also saw him look back, for there was more fun to be had, little boys being what they are, and puddles being so interesting.

It made me think of my own son, and I remembered when he was little and I wrote a poem for him.

Little Boys

They say that little boys are sweet
that they are oh so fine,
But I can tell they’ve never met
that little boy of mine.

When rain pours down and leaves behind
little puddles in the street,
No pool or puddle has been missed
by my boy’s little feet.

And when I send him out to play
in clothes all nice and clean,
Home he comes all dirt and grime
and knees all coloured green.

When supper’s done he clears the plates
for that’s a simple chore,
And when he wipes the table clean
the crumbs land on the floor.

When at night he has his bath
I really have to scrub,
To get off all the dirt he leaves
in a ring around the tub.

In bed at night when he’s asleep
I look upon his face,
And realize that no one else
could ever take his place.

They say that little boys are sweet
that they are oh so fine,
And I can tell they’ve surely met
that little boy of mine.

1 comment:

Blogger's Brother said...

I'm not sure much has changed in his behaviour, he's passed the dirt magnet gene to his kids!