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A boy And His Toy

A Boy and His Toy

He was no ordinary boy,
Then again, his was no ordinary toy.
Most boys his age played with swords on a stage,
Or ran outside with their dogs, who’d never been caged.
There on the riverbank he sat, face toward the ground,
not making a sound, as he quietly held what he’d found.

It was dirty and old,
and the poor sail had a fold.
But I could see the carpenters mold
The slightly torn sail was colored now a faded red.
I had stared on in silence, till he suddenly said,
“My daddy made this for me, he loved the sea!
We would sail on Saturdays; a good wind was the key.
Till one day my boat, it ran away down the stream,
We searched and we searched, but it was gone so it would seem.

I just nodded my head,
Looking at the boat that had recently fled.
“How'd you found it again”, I wondered aloud.
“Well, we built her,” he said, “to float like a cloud,
So she managed to stay as upright as she dashingly went,
But it happened to run into the bank so the sails bent.”
It steered toward the bank
And I thought that maybe it sank.
But no, in the rushes it stayed for many a week.
Every day I came back though weather was bleak.
Till today as I walked, I spied it there hidden.
So I picked it up and brushed off the mud,
And saved it from death by the flood.

This cute little barefooted boy
Cleary he held no ordinary toy.

~The end~

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