Small boys play is loud and shrill.
It echos through meadow and hill.
As they go marching off in fun,
That their fathers have now found so real.
They toot, and holler, and stand so tall.
They tumble and bounce, and pretend to fall.
Little boys are rascles all bundled in joy,
Perhaps, they are the freeist ones of all
Exploring the world in little parts.
Taking apart objects aren’t negative faults.
They thrust and throw and test our patience,
Then they smile and grab ahold of our hearts.
Such little wonders with open wide eyes.
Touching it all with their very lives.
Watch them and play with each thrill as they come.
And be there to kiss them and sing lullabyes.
CAWatson03/25/2008
