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
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