Sunday, November 4, 2007

Nick at Twelve

The middle child probably has the hardest time growing up, trying to be his own person with those older to boss him and those younger to tease him. This was written for Nick, my middle child.

There is love somewhere
Beneath the twelve year old
The uncouth noises, the egotism
camouflaging the terrible
Self consciences.

And when he's alone it comes out.
Not for his mother
Who at the end of a frustrating day
Forgets for a moment all about love.

Nor for his father
Whose main concern is to buid his son's

His love comes out like a blanket
Covering the old grey cat.
Who demands nothing from him
Except to be petted and
relieved of its winter's coat.

(C)1971 by Margaret C. Arvanitis
Please give credit if you pass this on.

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