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Boys


A Little Boy
A powerhouse of energy,
A free-for-all fun
Here, there, everywhere
He’s always on the run

Tunnel digger, castle builder,
Climber in the trees. . .

Frog collector,
Puddle jumper,
Crawler on his knees. . .

A handful of adventure
Who will fill your heart with joy

One Small Son
One small hand to hold in yours,
One small face to smile,
One wet kiss as he says “good-night”
One small child.
Catch the moment, put it in your heart
The years too soon will fly.
These are precious moments,
more than money can buy.
Two small arms to hold you tight,
Two small feet to run,
Two small eyes full of love for you,
One small son.
Catch the moment and put it in your heart
and never let it go.
Save it for the years to come,
when he, too will know.
One small hand to hold in his
One small face to smile.
One small kiss and she says “good-night”
One small child.

A Boy is . . .
Trust with dirt on its face,
Beauty with a cut on its finger,
Wisdom with bubble gum in its
hair, and the
Hope of the future with
A frog in its pocket.

Raising Boys
(Roberta I. Teague)
I scrub the wall of fingerprints,
Pick up the mounds of clothes.
I sweep the dirt that shoes track in-
Wish I could use a hose!
Meals are served from dawn to dark,
Dirty dishes crowd the sink.
Just when they’re washed and put away-
Everyone wants a drink!
The washer pulls the dirty grime
From pants worn thin and patched.
They look so very neat and clean-
Yuck, look what the pockets hatched!
Broken bones and bloody knees,
I should have been a nurse.
I take it all in shaky stride-
Just grateful it’s not worse!
Screams and shouts and arguments
Test the keeping of my cool.
They left the neighbor’s faucet on-
See their new front yard pool!
A soothing bath is ecstasy,
A reward at the end of my rope.
Raising boys isn’t really bad-
But first I must wash the soap!
A rose can say I Love You,
Orchids can enthrall;
But a weed bouquet in a chubby fist,
Oh my, that says it all!


Broken Things

Oh, a lot of things get broken when you’re rearing little boys,
There are broken doors and hinges, broken vases, broken toys.
There are many broken handles, broken dishes, broken knobs
And little troubles brew and break with little broken sobs.
There’s many a broken buckle, and lots of broken stitches,
And on some very trying days, there may be broken switches.
The chocolate cake gets broken around its frosted edge
By a little Indian (mis) chief now hiding in the hedge.
And oft the quiet’s shattered with a cowboy’s scream and shout,
And oft times little faces are with measles broken out!
And little skins get broken, or else bumped ‘till black and blue
But, thanks to Mom’s caresses – little spirits never do.
Oh, many a nap is broken up with banging, din, and noise;
Yes, a lot of things get broken when you’re rearing little boys!
But Silence, Gloom and Quiet, (When they grow up and depart)
Seem to settle all unbroken on your lonely, broken heart.

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