My Son

A son means fond
memories of a little
boy at play, and creatures,
worms and snails
brought to me most days.
Dirty shoes and
tattered jeans,
and grabbing snacks
in between,
all came in the form
of my little man
who's given more joy
than lifetimes span.
Precious memories,
singular things
in my my head and
heart do ring.
You kept me frenzied,
sometimes despaired
with frogs in your pocket
and gum in your hair!
But I've treasured all in
wonderous delight for
when you'd jump to
kiss me goodnight
with sticky face
from stolen treats,
I have to admit that
nothing beats
The joy that has
blessed me like
the prize that is won..
the wonderous
love that I have for.....


My Son!

Happy Birthday!

Poetry written by Janet Spivey, 2009 Page Design: By Bobette Bryan
Music: "By Bobette Bryan"