My son’s eyes have an innocent look.
Chocolate is the color of his lips.
Clothes once clean, are smeared with ****
Or spotted by an ice cream cone that drips.
I’ve seen damage done both day and night,
Of a magnitude you’d never believe,
Done by my son while out of sight.
Destruction Patton could never achieve.
I love to hear him sleep, yet I know well
When he is awake, there will be sound.
He’ll make ‘music’ with horn, drum, or bell.
My son, when he plays, you know he’s around.
And yet, by heaven, I love to be with him.
Even if snot is crusted on his chin.
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 11:44 AM UTC
My son’s eyes have an innocent look.
Chocolate is the color of his lips.
Clothes once clean, are smeared with ****
Or spotted by an ice cream cone that drips.
I’ve seen damage done both day and night,
Of a magnitude you’d never believe,
Done by my son while out of sight.
Destruction Patton could never achieve.
I love to hear him sleep, yet I know well
When he is awake, there will be sound.
He’ll make ‘music’ with horn, drum, or bell.
My son, when he plays, you know he’s around.
And yet, by heaven, I love to be with him.
Even if snot is crusted on his chin.
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