11-Year Old Son

He rolls quickly on the floor.
Then shoots of water gun at sisters,
then hides fights an imaginary war,
and marvels at his new blister.

He catches grasshoppers and frogs,
and makes traps for bad guys.
Takes a stick, beats a rolling log,
and light flames in his eyes.

He watches hundreds of ants.
Stays up late watching flicks,
runs and pulls up his army pants,
builds a clubhouse out of sticks.

Then a hug for mom,
and a bright smile,
sure was worth waiting for
in the life of this child.

Poetry and Music created by Diana Deck