Saturday, 18 April 2009

Sign of the Times

The child surveyed the scene
His toys thrown on the floor
His books stacked in wobbling piles
His games sticking out of the drawer

His paints sitting on the table
Awaiting a masterpiece
His cars lying in anxious wait
Wanting to escape the police

His planes all now were grounded
Dreaming of skies they had sored
The child turned around and looked up at me
And then declared "I'm bored".

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