Lonely toy soldier,
Dropped into a drain,
Washed away by rain.
Will I ever be dry again?
Floated down stream,
To rest in a sunbeam.
Years pass,
Soldiers paint does not last.
Faded and cracked,
Destroyed by the brave ray of light,
that dared poke through the leaves,

of an oak tree.

One day by happenstance,
A child took a glance,
At the ground beneath an oak tree.
There be the soldier,
Once proud and lacquered
Now faded and battered.
Round face appears,

and the world tilts, 

as if on stilts, 

And suddenly everything has changed over the years.

What happened to the courtyard where children played?

Or the stables,

where horses brayed?

Where has the soldiers world gone?

Everything is wild and blurry,

As the child runs away with the soldier in a flurry.

We burst through a door,

While the boy yells "father!"

He says he hopes hes not a bother,

When we pass through a doorway.

There sits a man, I can see him from the hallway.

The boy walks briskly,

Although this is risky,

He tells me-

Father does not like to bothered.

He comes upon the door,

And waits while looking at the floor.

His father turns from the window,

What he was looking at I will never know.

The child holds my prone figure towards his father.

Suddenly,

As if by way of snapped fingers,

His stony visage cracks,

And he takes me from the boy.

He looks at the top of my hat,

And then holds me up and gasps

In disbelief that his carving could have lasted,

For there on the top of my hat is a name

I have found my play mate once again.