Son
by carolyn pidgeon
Little Rambo with your army green do-rag, Plowing through cricket-infested thickets, Finding adventure in crayfish laden creeks And battling beavered logs.
Constructing well squared crates For no purpose other than wielding hammer over nail. Proving your prowess to the older boys With bicycle tricks and alacrity.
You were a tough little guy until the sun Dipped behind the trees And you begged for one more story, one more song. And your heart broke for the wounded In that fairy tale world of the weak and the strong.
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