The Boy I Was

THE BOY I WAS Freckles and frogs but no smelly bouquet holding his hair is just dirt or red clay doesn't have time to be blowing his nose and when he wrestles he tears up his clothes. He makes a ribbon and wears it with pride proving he won't be put down or aside, loss of a tooth or black of an eye, king of the mountain who'll never say die. Laughing about litlle girls' funny ways; he just won't mind if she goes or she stays, but if a bully has trouble to stir, she'll not forget, he'll be there for her. Yes he can dream, there are things to be done, all of his life, it's not all having fun, when it's the end he'll look back with a smile, so very glad he's been here for a while. © ron wilson aka vee bdosa the Doylestown Poet