The Downs Syndrome Child

Someone near and dear to me Has a child with Downs Syndrome, Who, more often than not Is beyond difficult to control. The little boy is six years old But acts as if he’s two, He can’t speak at all, just yells a lot Throwing wild tantrums until he’s blue. He likes throwing things around As if everything’s a toy, And has difficulty distinguishing Between bad behavior and pure, ecstatic joy. (And his mother is a nervous wreck, always picking up after the boy). His fingers are his eyes at times As textures are his friends, If he doesn’t like the way it feels He won’t go there again. And he likes to lay down on the ground Balling up like a boulder, Until someone comes to pick him up While he gives them his cold shoulder. It’s difficult to fully describe All the nuances of this child, The range of his emotions From anger and sadness to his beautiful, blissful smile. (And his mother is a nervous wreck, walking many lonely miles). They wonder about his future And those around him always near, And wonder how much happiness Will follow him through the years. Will he learn to play an instrument Or dance and sing a song, Is it possible he will marry someday Will true love come along? Will he find friends who will love him And treat him sweet and kind, Or only those who will shun him And close him off like blinds. (And his mother is a nervous wreck, And losing her own mind. His mother is a nervous wreck And loves him All the time). © Terrell Martin, 02/26/2025