Up on the chair he stood sneaky and proud.
The grin on his face gave it all away.
This boy was doing something not allowed,
He was sneaking into Fathers room.
He had curly brown hair to frame his boyish face.
Big brown eyes stared up with wonder.
He wore faded overalls over his cream shirt,
It was obvious he didn't belong.
But when he smiled at me,
It was hard not to lose all sense of mind,
To not right him off his wrong,
And send him on his way.
He stood with no shoes on an old wicker chair.
Up high on his tiptoes, higher than me.
Those small greedy hands reached up in pursuit
Of the only thing on the long pale wall.
"What are you doing," I asked in a voice much unlike my own.
It was southern and sweet,
With a grown up allusion.
"Nothin' ma'am. Just lookin'."
In seconds he was gone,
Left from Fathers room.
I had to hold back a chuckle
As I took away the chair.
The boy was trying to steal Father's time.
He was trying to make the world stop spinning,
To save my broken heart.