In His Chair

He sat alone in his own little chair Twiddling thumbs, matted, greased hair Child with kind eyes, a gentle being Of his life, still clearly it was in the Spring. A single parent, no Dad to lead Alone was the lad, to dress and to feed Most days she labored, six until six The TV his parent, his life in those pics. He grew into anger, direction so muddled Missing a touch, or a warm gentle cuddle What will become of such a sad life So empty of love, abundant with strife. He sat alone in his own little chair Twiddling thumbs, matted, greased hair The boy with wild eyes, a violent being Of his life, still clearly it was in the Spring. For his arrival, another chair's ringing.