Mother's Boy
Scale the back fence, weary child
and run along
to your hidden place
Scabs upon skinny elbows
and school clothes ruined
deep green with grass stains
Comb through your hair, mother's boy
as she'd have it
handsome and tidy
English ivy spiraling
the iron gates
outside the garden
Make believe now, only son
the made up things
of an epic dream
Copyright © Greg Easley | Year Posted 2006
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