The little boy at the clothes-line
Reaching up to the sky
For the comfort of his blankie
Without it he would cry.
His sweet and silent wonderment
Would make his mother sigh;
But what with careful eagerness,
Did boy have in his eye?
A thinker was inside this boy,
His words though, kept at bay.
A rite of passage came for him,
Commencing time to play.
And soon this boy would enter school,
But still no words to say…
Lord knows he wasn’t ready yet.
To take upon the stage.
So he picked up a violin,
And tried to make a sound.
This quiet, shy, and earnest kid,
Was yearning to be found.
He thought he’d try a different way
With bats and balls and grass,
But something else was calling him,
The game that showed his class.
The ice became the love affair,
That set him on his way
This hockey life was calling him,
He played it every day.
And though his world was filled with fun
He struggled to make friends
Feeling just a little different,
Unable to pretend.
Then on a bus from out of town
A girl showed up at school,
Picked him out from the other boys
He thought that very cool.
He found it hard to tell her though
So he sent small love notes
Filled with the things he couldn’t say;
Those words stuck in this throat.
The more and more he wrote things down—
The clearer was his voice,
Expressing things straight from his heart
Became his tool of choice.
As he traversed life’s ups and downs
He’d realise now and then
He was reaching for that blanket
But should have grabbed his pen.
So now the boy becomes a man
Who’s filling up life’s page
The safety is inside of him
He’s taken centre stage.
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