By Joshua Waldman
A boy of three looks up at me with eyes
of brown and shining blond tresses with curls.
And what he wants is clear to me; here lies
Some gifts which bear his name upon their twirls
And then I see I look like him; the boy
Who looks at me: I see the boy is me
He waves his arms I see, perhaps to qtoy
With me. Or he yet might just wave with glee.
And so I wave to him as he had done
And now it’s clear that I am not the one
Who stands waving to him like he has won
The game monopoly, of quite good fun.
I wake with sunshine pouring in my room
And sun rays shine without a sense of gloom.
No comments:
Post a Comment