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Quatrain Child Poems | Quatrain Poems About Child

These Quatrain Child poems are examples of Quatrain poems about Child. These are the best examples of Quatrain Child poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Quatrain | |

O Holy Night

O holy night when Christ was born,
And in a manger laid;
What love decreed that God should be
The child of a maid?
O holy night the inn was full,
A stable near at hand;
O night of prophecies fulfilled
When Caesar taxed the land.

O holy night the shepherds watched
Their flocks upon the field,
And, lo, the angel of the Lord
With glory was revealed.
"Fear not, behold, I bring to you
Good tidings full of joy;
For unto you is born this day
A Saviour as a boy."

Then suddenly the sky was lit
By angels filled with mirth,
Proclaiming glory unto God
And peace to all the earth.
The shepherds said among themselves,
"To Bethlehem we'll go;
For something great is come to pass
And this we wish to know."

They came and found the newborn babe
With Joseph and his bride;
When they had seen, this news they spread
Throughout the countryside,
And all that heard did wonder great
At things the shepherds told;
But Mary pondered all these things 
Within her heart of gold.

O holy night when God was praised,
O night when hope returned;
O night when angels spake aloud
And skies with glory burned:
O holy night when Christ was born,
And in a manger laid;
What love decreed that God should be
The child of a maid? 


~ Based on Luke 2:7-20 ~ 
~Written for "Here We Go A Caroling".~

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2012

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A Nook And A Storybook

Orphan child sits alone in a dark room, poverty stricken with no toys to play. An old lady brings him a dusty book, big grin on his face, he reads away. Eyes gleam taking him to a magic place, suddenly the room is now full of light. So absorbed in a world of fantasy, he lives each page in rapture and delight. Forgotten are his struggles and the pain, lost in the world of once upon a time. He is now a strong knight battling dragons, the next page a super hero fighting crime. Colourful pictures bring stories to life, creating images in a child's mind. But the book he reads is written in Braille, happiness for a poor child who is blind.
28 April 2016 What I Would Give For A Nook And A Storybook contest by Eve Roper

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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The little soldier boy

His daddy is fighting in Iraq.
His mommy is fighting tears.
His brother is fighting death.
He is fighting his desolation and fears.

Friends are but a dream
and companions are an illusion.
School is a concentration camp,
but he stands, though alone, in the midst of confusion.

His training school is loneliness.
His milestones are fears, thrust in lies.
His only weapon is faith
and his bullets are soft "hallelujah" cries.

Strength left his fragile body
and he lost the fight in life so coy,
yet on his knees he conquered agony
and I call him the little soldier boy.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013

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Little Stones


My window sill is laden with little stones
Of no particular color, shape or size
Given to me as if they were diamonds
By his little hand, my own special prize

Each one had its small story to tell
A recital of just when and where it was found
Washed and polished with loving care
Oh the stories, they went round and round

Small things make up the embroidery of life
The  joys that carry us through our days
Like a collage of colored stones on the sill
A small thing, precious in its own way….



For Anthony's contest....

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2014

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Growing Young

Another year older
Yet I feel just the same
Except my hair's turned greyer
and my knees are getting lame

I once had buns of steel
My mind was like a trap
But now that I am older
I don't put up with any crap

Sure my bod is sagging
I've got bags under my eyes
I webble and I wobble
There is jello in my thighs

yet I am not daunted 
Imagination is my friend
I stay away from all the mirrors
Enjoying my land of pretend

For if there is no reflection
The world is sure rosy red
I live the life of Riley
From morning till I go to bed

For within my mental landscape
I live an adventure every day
I ain't really getting older
I'm to busy enjoying  my play

So if you don't mind my foolish
Come join me in the land of joy
Where you can be like a teenager
and I can be a silly boy!

Thanks for all the Birthday greetings!

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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DO ANGELS REALLY COME TO EARTH

Do angels really come to earth,
And sit beside me by the hearth;
And do they watch me through the night,
And keep me safe till morning's light?

Does God really send them here,
To keep me safe so I won't fear;
And do they watch me night and day,
And stay close by me while I play?

Do they watch me climb each hill,
Just in case I take a spill?
God must love me very much,
To take such pains to keep in touch.



"WHOEVER RECEIVES ONE SUCH CHILD IN MY NAME, RECEIVES ME;
BUT WHOEVER CAUSES ONE OF THESE LITTLE ONES WHO BELIEVE IN ME TO STUMBLE,
IT IS BETTER FOR HIM THAT A HEAVY MILLSTONE BE HUNG ABOUT HIS NECK  AND THAT HE BE DROWNED IN THE DEPTHS OF THE SEA."
                                                                   Matthew 18:5-6

"TRAIN UP A CHILD IN THE WAY HE SHOULD GO AND WHEN HE IS OLD HE WILL NOT DEPART FROM IT."
                         Proverbs 22:6


For Children In Rhyme Contest by Francine Roberts

Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2012

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A Letter to My Son

Your going has left a hole in my heart that time,
The Great Healer, cannot repair.
Your going has left a hole in my existence
That forever and beyond will not heal,
A hole ever expanding from its own nothingness,
A hole through which all the goodness,
All the kindness of you is slipping through.
You were my sounding board.
Trite ideas offered, came back
Enhanced, brilliant and sparkling.
Borrowing intelligence from you, I grew wiser.
Doors opened before me as I strove to be worthy
Of you, my beloved son.
I go on now as you would have me do,
Searching in Nature for the joy 
You found in its wonders.
Hearing bird songs with your ears,
Relating to others with your empathetic instincts.
Striving, ever striving to be the person
And mother that you believed me to be
And never letting your memory grow dim
For those you loved and for whom you sacrificed.

You came into this world with a wisdom
That did not come from me.
I thank God each day for His lending you to me
For the time that I had you near
And I cling to His promise
That I will see you again.

I could not tell from whence you came,
Born with a wisdom that did not come from me,
And I do not know where you have gone,
Part of myself, the better part--into Eternity.

Originally entered as verse

Rewritten:

A Letter to my Son

Your going has left a hole in my heart
That Time, that great healer cannot repair.
Your going  left  space in my existence
That forever and more will still be there.

Ever expanding from it nothingness
A hole from which your goodness has slipped through.
The kindnesses you wore as a halo
Have disappeared as well since I lost you.

I used you as a sounding boad to measure
The wisdom and the beauty of the world.
Your ideas were so clear and brilliant,
Through you my own best aptitudes unfurled.

I'm trying to live up to your standards.
I want to be more worthy of you, Son.
You told me once I was the perfect mother,
And with you life was such a lot of fun.

I thank God every day for loan of you.
The time we had was more than worth the pain.
And now I'm clinging tight to his promise
That some day I will see you once again. 

I do not know from whence you came,
Blessed with wisdom  that did not come from me.
Each day I pray I know where you have gone;
Taking my heart into Eternity.




Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009

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Another Man's Pain

A small grave, and for it's weeds was bare
with only a handmade wooden cross.
Easy to see that a child rest there.
Poor unloved young soul was my first thought.

Well I read this cross, for this child of grief.
"John my young son so frail and fair
my joy, my love, my life I leave
to the arms of your mother and Lord's care."

The back read; "To doctors all my money I gave
I cannot buy even a simple stone
with a borrowed spade, I have dug your grave,
I carve this marker, and am now alone."

That wooden cross, seemed to rise
high above great marble markers.
Thoughts rush my mind as I realized
the pain this poor man's heart had harbored.

Never again his son he will see
knowing his child would rests under cold ground.
As unkempt as this grave seemed to be, 
with it's wooden cross and it’s weeds all around.

I pulled at those weeds with my bare hand
then my flowers I laid at the foot of that cross.
I prayed "Please God, help me understand" 
as I felt the pain of another man's loss.

Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2007

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Through the Rain

She cried and screamed what's wrong with me
I believe I'd sell my soul
To find out why this anger haunts me
Why do I lose control?

I always hurt the ones I care for
It's a battle every day
Do I hate myself so much
That I'm pushing them away?

Her self esteem was taken away 
When she was just a child
Adopted at the age of four
Hungry, abused, sexually defiled

How can we as human beings
Turn and look the other way?
Animals don't treat their young like that
Will  there be a judgement day?

Flashbacks come and stir the fires
Of the pain she can't forget
She lashes out unthinkingly
Then her heart fills with regret

Teach her to love the person she is
Install a sense of pride
Teach her to look within her soul
And see the beauty deep inside

Don't turn away when this anger comes
Don't give up on this child in pain
She'll give you a world of sunshine
If you hold her through the rain.


        If you hold on long enough, the child doesn't have an excuse to quit on 
herself. Too many, parents, foster parents, adopted parents give up too soon and 
the child becomes systemized.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2006

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The Child in Me

Soda pop and gum drops
A river full, so sweet
To be that child I once was
All that candy, I would eat

Not worry about a cavity,
the dentist or my skin
Just concerned with getting more
And filling it within

A jawbreaker, some nonpareils
Bazookas and candy dots
Sour apples and baby ruths
Oh I love it all a lot

Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008

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Billy's Tall Tale

Billy's Tall Tale

"Billy, it's time! Get up for school!
Your drawing project's due today.
You know about your teacher's rule;
she must have it without delay."

"But, mom, my arm is hurting bad!
There is no way that I can go.
I must stay home, though I am sad...
I'm really hurting, don't you know."

"But Billy, can you lift your arm?"
"I can't, it's painful and too sore."
Now, mom asked him, with mommy charm,
"how high could you lift it before?"

And Billy raised his arm up tall
above his head...his face turned red!
From his warm bed, he had to crawl...
get ready quick for school instead.


Sandra M. Haight

~NA~
Contest: Tall Tales In Short Form
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Judged: 05/17/2016

Rules: For this contest I want you to make a tall tale, creative, fun, humorous, but you have to do it in 16 lines or less.

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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Haunting Memories



             Haunting Memories
                         The Safety Zone



    It feels like I have wind chimes in my feet
        The tingling feeling is that intense
            Pins and needles keep pestering me
                But obedience is my best defense

                    Every single step is a painful memory
                        Of the childhood I never got to see
                            Walking on glass eggshells metaphorically
                                Watching my feet continually bleed

                                Too young to understand what was happening
                            So obediently I tried to be brave
                        Every night I had to cry myself to sleep
                    I hadn't even lived yet but wished for my grave

                Punishment handed out like it was an offering
            Like my pain was some sort of sadistic prize
        Hiding away in the backyard that covered me
    Holding my breath and closing my eyes




                              bmdavey@05/18/16

Copyright © Brian Davey | Year Posted 2016

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Reflection's ghost

Where phantoms dwell in halls beyond recall
Bound to fate in cells of sanity’s fall 
Where souls were left to hunt their past
Cold, lost, bereft. A wasteland vast

Whence I will run, and seek through tombs,
Forget the sun as dark thunder looms.
She too dwells here, a child of strange charms.
Wounds to sear, bled out in late arms.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2016

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Wake Up Little Sleepy Head

Wake up little “Sleepy head”
It’s time to rise and shine – 
Get up out of that old bed
There are mountains yet to climb. 

Put on your shoes and sweater
Take a walk amidst the trees – 
Come listen to the sound of loons
Wafting in the breeze. 

Wake up now little “Sleepy head”
The hour is drawing near –
For you to dance and find romance 
And the path that you must steer. 

In this carousel ride on which you fly
Throughout this life you’re living – 
Come find yourself and all you’re worth
And learn the gift of giving.

Wear that pretty purple dress
That matches your dark eyes – 
And don’t forget to stop and rest  
When rainbows fill the sky. 

Wake up now little “Sleepy head”
The flower garden’s near – 
Waiting for you to plant some seeds
That will sprout anew next year.

While you look for love from high above 
And in everyone you meet – 
Today it’s time for you to find 
Diamonds at your feet. 

Wake up now little “Sleepy head”
It’s time to move along –
No more waiting, hesitating
To find where you belong. 
         

 
 


    

Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2014

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Piki Tupp and Poteeta Way

I have a superhero;
his name is Piki Tupp. 
Before you count to zero,
he'll have picked it up.

Grandpa could have hurt his neck 
but Piki, super guy, 
picked the peel up from the deck 
where Junior let it lie.

I've another super friend;
her name's Poteeta Way.
If it's out, you can depend 
it's rightly put away.
 
When some kids can't find their stuff 
they're like a mental case.
But she'll find it, sure enough,
because it's in its place.  

From New Year's to December,
you'll always make Mom's day,
if you will just remember 
Piki Tupp and Poteeta Way.  

Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2014

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I Love Mommy Because

Mommy loves me more than laundry
More than dirty dishes too
She’d rather spend her time with me 
Than doing things others do

She would rather play with me 
Than take a nap or sew
I love Mommy ‘cause she loves me
More than any TV show

She’s always there to pick me up 
And love away my tears.
She prays to Jesus every night 
To keep me from my fears

She gobbles like a turkey
And loves to dance around
I always smile; always laugh
She’s better than a clown

She’d rather eat her food all cold
So she can feed me “HUM”, and
Then wipe my face and clean the 
Walls and floor of food I’ve flung
 
Mommy makes the greatest faces 
When I do something she likes
But, saves the best for when she finds
She’ll need the baby wipes

She mostly talks like grownups do
But tries to talk like me
She hasn't mastered yet just how 
To speak in baby-ese.

If there’s just one thing I could say 
To Mommy when I’m grown…
“Thank you for who you are 
And the love you’ve always shown.”

Copyright © Christopher Thor Britt | Year Posted 2013

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Lifting Me Up

My heart is on Your shoulders,
And You are lifting me up.
With every spoken tender gesture,
I fall a little farther in love.

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

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Fallen Victim

I have fallen victim so many times
To nobody's fault except only mine.
I will ask for forgiveness and have faith,
Even though I feel like I am not saved.

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

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Papa, Mama and Winnie

I’ve placed it in the most visible place
This old photo of black and white
Taken in 1943, the edges worn and frayed  
Papa, Mama, Winnie, eyes bright

Though one by one they’ve all gone
They’ve left legacies of love, faith
And the sweet memories linger on
This beautiful photo transmits

When I look at their eyes
Warmth and gentleness residing                   
Dressed in their best, wearing subtle smiles
Beauty is captured, surviving!
~*~
3/03/13
Inspired by a beautiful photo of my parents and eldest sister...R.I.P.

Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2013

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The Road Home

On the way to Parkview hospital,
while driving along the Pacific rim,
under a thick blanket of fog,
our car pushed hard against a northeast wind

A winding road through muddy hills
The highway strewn with mud and soggy leaves
from patches of leaning eucalyptus
Wild scatterings of tall and ancient trees

Around each curve a reddish glare of headlights,
forked, and slashed their garish designs 
upon your father's anxious face,
I took deep breaths and counted time

Lights accentuated the grimace of his angst
He kept silent, in such firm distraction,
and curiously  seeing his face light up in the dark,
eased the grimace of my own contractions

Silhouettes of signs and trees
flashing by in lightning's fury
Windshield wipers keeping rhythm
indicating "hurry!....hurry!"
 
Our new found light showed us where to turn
and soon we curved around the bay,
the winding road led where we learned
young confidence... can show  the way

You found your way into our arms
to a place that owned our hearts
You wrapped us with a cord of charms
and changed to light, a night so dark

When morning came to take you home
The sun broke through across the land
And new adventures waited then
A brand new winding road began




_____________________________________________________
For Kelly Deschler's  Contest: "Just Down The Road"

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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Enjoy This Place

Follow your dreams and follow your heart;
God has shown you the path to start.
Never give up and always have faith;
Do what you love and enjoy this place!

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

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A Child Jabbers Spondees


Its feet are tiny dimeter,
Body, spirit, soul, trimeter,
Would you look at those ears and eyes
Whose tetrameter rhyme defies

Its foot with pentameter toes,
Smelled by monometer nose!
Don’t fret when its iamb voice speaks 
Cheerful quatrains for days and weeks.

Stand still while it jabbers spondee,
In stanzas of metered trochee.
Well, my friend, please do not pretend,
Or you’ll cause more stress at the end.

Each verse it speaks is oh, so sweet
For it’s growing Longfellow feet!
Sit back, relax, put on a smile,
You’ve been zapped by a poet’s grandchild!

Copyright © James Tate | Year Posted 2011

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Memories

Waking up in the dark of night
barely four years of age.
My world is wrought with fright 
not knowing my life would be a stage.

That little girl long ago
was innocent… pure…
but now she is who I no longer know.
My mind is a disease for which there is no cure.

At day I have no rest.
At night I can not flee.
Sanity is a rare guest
and when he comes I can’t see.

This is my curse so real:
I can’t forget 
the dreams, and ‘reality’ surreal
is something I’ve never met.
	
So chirp, little robin, chirp and sing!
For today once more you entertain well.
So be merry, let the world its troubles bring!
For tonight once more you feast in sheer, bloody Hell.

Your ability to remember 
will be your curse to flee.
Each year, January to December
You will wish you had not known memory.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013

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Pippi Longstocking

Britches to shirt tails
in pigtails not pony.
She's Pippi the Longstocking,
her legs long and bony.

With raspberry lips
been parched by the sun.
Suspenders jacked up
to not come undone.

Her stitches to patches.
The clothes for a Jester.
Her uplifting laughter.
A fashion that's blessed her.

With red raven hair
and freckles to match.
Her teeth buck in front
on jaws for a latch.

Long stockings to thighs
and on past the knees.
Both comfortable wearing
and no-one to please.

A spunk little child.
with cheeks boldly out.
She's Pippi Longstocking!
Let's all give a shout!

Go Pippi!  Go Pippi!
from your smile to your laugh.
You're the girl with stockings
pulled over her calf.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2015

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The child within

Beyond smiling lips
carrying the sorrows of the past,
behind the eyes' sparkle
concealing the darkness of horrors still to last
stares a stranger, young and kind.

Yet she shows not her face
for the stroke of death's caress
extinguishes the aroma of her heart.
Not for any sin, but tenderness
so pure. For survival's sake, she died.

Now her corpse haunts the corners of thought.
Her laughter echoes throughout the years
like the singing bird clipped of wings.
Steel nerves creak with the rust formed by her tears
and audibly a cry from her coffin screams.

Perhaps her ghost will someday rest
when justice to her grave is done,
her tombstone placed to mark her existence  
and known in my reflection...

Yes, I killed her. I murdered her in cold blood still flowing.
Now she is vengeful, her dead heart still pounding.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013

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A Christmas Memory

Woke Christmas morn at our grandparents’ house
where as a treat we siblings spent the night.
Back home we went and found a big surprise:
a new born girl – a sight of pure delight!

---------------------------------------
Paul Callus ~ 26th November 2015
Contest: A Christmas Memory
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Placed 3rd

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

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Wizard

If only there was a wizard
like Dorthy payed a visit.
If only for our wishing.
A far off land exquisite.

An emerald palace standing.
A place for all to come.
Along a yellow brick road
followed down by some.

A path into a city
where all the dreamers go.
A million tiny munchkins
surrounding you for show.

An Oz home to a wizard.
A great and powerful Oz.
A man to answer questions.
Dreams worthy of their cause.

A place where witches bicker
and evil's fought with water.
Where broomsticks are for flying
and monkeys for the slaughter.

A good witch keeping secrets.
Her wand for waving greetings.
And knowing ruby slippers
means home and not for fleetings.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2015

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Discipline

Holding a breath of the night,
Scolding with a lions roar,
Quivering lips inflame, pale to sight.
Downing her head to shame, tears come more.
Discipline is war, here comes a fight.
What are we arguing for?

Aging comes with growing pain,
Caging the beast of control,
When it's mommy that screams,  anger rain.
An engine blowing steams, fueled coal,
A toddlers teaching may drive one insane
But it's love that keeps us whole.


July 13, 2015

Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2015

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From Birth to the Grave


We are children from birth to the grave
searching for love, desperate for a home.
Look past the facade, the eyes shining brave
to see the innocence, the child who roams.

We are children from birth to the grave
sharing our hopes from a candle of light.
One burns on the sill, our promise to save
the child once lost in the perilous night.

We are children from birth to the grave
with dogged desire to shed aging skin.
On a quest, we seek the purpose we crave,
each breath exhaling the fear still within.

We are children from birth to the grave
cradling offspring with smiles like our own.
Freed from the past, we forgive brutes and knaves
until in sleep, the child cries with a moan.



Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2012

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A Box

Dad came home with a packaged parcel
when I was just a boy.
A special gift he'd bought for me.
I had hoped it was a toy.

He placed it on the floor below
and nodded that I open.
I reached for it and fully smiled;
bulky and utopian.

And knowing that my parents bought
a gift from both their hearts,
I schlept next to the box contents
and pryed it up in parts.

At first sight, there emerged a truck-
One shiny, big and red.
I gawked excited, my eyes glued fast
and paused to breath then shed.

That night I played around the room.
The floor my second home.
That soon I tired and fell asleep
inside the box and dome.

By morning I had made a home,
a window and a door.
I parked my truck outside the box
leaned back to sleep and snore.

I napped and played throughout the day:
the box more fun than toy.
I saw my parents laugh at me,
and I just smiled coy.

The box was more than I expected.
A toy more than all toys.
A box a noble thing to have,
to play inside with noise.

A box to do most any thing.
To raise me and to guide.
Now that I'm older and think back
my parents loved the ride.

I'm older now and have two kids.
I think I'll buy them gifts.
and knowing what I know of parents,
I'll get a box that lifts.

A cardboard box that's square and simple.
A love of boys and girls.
A home with doors and windows,
that bounces, plops and whirls.

A cardboard box straight from the heart.
No greater love of parents.
One kid's can laugh and play inside.
A love that is transparent.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2014