The Little Toy

The little toy lay on the ground where he fell
When the door had shut a little too fast
And jarred the table, shook the room,
Sending the poor little toy to his doom.

Shattered, broken, beaten and bruised,
The fall had left him in pieces, in parts,
His left leg sliding across the floor,
His right arm crumpled up by the door,
His left hand barely hanging on,
While his head was scratched, the paint nearly gone.

What would the little boy think, what would he do,
When he came home to find his favorite toy fallen, split in two?
Would he cry and hold his parts up high?
Would he throw his remains towards the bright blue sky?
Would he grow angry, bury him far underground?
Would he sullenly walk away without a sound?

How could the boy love a toy no longer fit
To be all he had in his expansive mind?
A policeman, a cowboy, an astronaut,
Courageous, romantic, humble and kind?

Where once his limbs had been strong as stone,
The years had wearied him down past the bone,
The burden of life had grown and grown,
And now, now he would be ever alone.

The door creaked open, there was the patter of feet,
And the sound of a young boys cry of defeat
As he saw his favorite toy scattered about;
“What had happened to the toy once so stout?”

But the little boys father leaned over his son
And soothed the child, calmed the storm,
Gathered the legs, the arms, the head,
While the little toy thought, “Surely, I am dead.”

The son watched with tear stained cheeks
As the father placed the pieces together so neat,
And with a tiny tool and steady hands
Put the little toy all together again.

Triumphant, the son lifted the little toy
For what the fall had broken his father had fixed,
And what had split apart, now was even stronger stitched;
Thus, the little boy loved even more
The little toy that had fallen to the floor.

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  1. March 15th, 2011

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