Antiquing
Antiquing
I note the sweet goodness in his tiny face,
His little hand pushed in his pocket,
I see his interested eyes stirring
Toward a little car in a glass case with lock on it.
Mom has his hand in her own
While roaming in the antique shop,
Wondering if she had the means
To buy a pretty antique or not.
Her little boy pulls away from her,
He has those longing eyes glued,
On the little steel antique Ford, he saw
Causing his mouth to drool.
Mom comes to find him, sees his yearning,
She had found nothing for herself,
She sees the little black car and those eyes,
Guess what she bought from the case’s shelf.
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