Poetry

My Son Sleeps (#459)

There he sleeps on his bed,
Resting that sweet little head,
During the day he’s a tornado whipping through,
At night he’s curled up under a puppy named blue,
It just amazes me how special he really is,
At six years of age, he’s already a whiz,
Where does all that energy go when he sleeps?
I’m not sure how he maintains the momentum he keeps,
Over, under, up and down,
To, from, there and all around,
He’s such a busy bee during the day,
Then at night he passes out wherever he was in play,
At bedtime, he puts up such a fuss,
No matter – he’s still an adorable little cuss,
At night I check on him, and I watch a while,
That sleeping little angel always makes me smile,
He may drive me crazy, but I love him to death,
And I’ll protect him with my last breath,
So, sleep my son ever so sound,
For you are loved by all that surround.

Any Thoughts?

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