Secret Pocket
A boy named Leo, with hair of yellow sun,
Stood on a path when autumn had begun.
His jacket, blue as skies on a clear day,
Held a secret pocket, hidden away.
The air was crisp, the world a golden haze,
A perfect backdrop for these wondrous days.
His boots, well-worn and scuffed a dusty brown,
Had walked through fields and every part of town.
He reached a hand inside his coat, so deep,
And pulled a treasure from its magic sleep.
A vivid red ball, a perfect, bouncy sphere,
Then shiny pebbles, crystal-like and clear.
Next came a feather, from a bluebird's wing,
A silver key, a strange and ancient thing.
A tiny soldier, standing straight and tall,
He answered to a silent, unheard call.
A skipping stone, so smooth and grey and flat,
A yellow lollipop, how sweet was that.
A picture of a girl with a brilliant smile,
He gazed at it for quite a long, long while.
A seashell, listening to the ocean's sound,
Though miles of land were all that could be found.
And last of all, a leaf of maple bright,
A perfect star of red and golden light.
His pocket, empty, yet it gave and gave,
A magic trick, a wondrous, happy wave.
And Leo smiled, with pockets full of dreams,
On that beautiful day, or so it seems.
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