Dreams of a Little Boy of Five

The world to him is the garden
Round his door,
Blue skies are hard as icing on a cake.
The moon is just a golden ball,
Smiling face he sees,
To him, the moon is very real.
Then, he plans to go some day,
Way up high ,
In a mighty spaceship,
Made in his own bedroom small,
But then the milkman blocks his view,
“O! to drive a van, as white, as snow”
To wear a cap with star in front”
A pilot, too he deems to be
To speed through clouds,
Of frosted sugar white,
Yet now, he dreams of the coffee shop
Down by the corner.
With all the lovely things he likes,
Just for a night to hide amongst
Its pale brown counters;
The very thought makes two eyes shine,
Two lips, they move in happy anticipation.
Until he dreams,
A garda big and strong
Creeps quietly, slowly, neath the window,
He, himself is the mighty gangster
There inside, alone, he tears apart
The coloured boxes,
All lovely things
Around the floor are strewn.
One great big mess of
Chocolates, cakes and pies….
He startles, when he hears
A piercing siren,
some house distressed
with flames and treacherous fire,
That tower of strength,
With bells aringing,
Flees to that awful scene of strife.
The little eyes see only painted glamour
He himself, is the fireman climbing high,
Leaping, sweltering, rushing, daring,
He, the hero, who never, never tires,
A mind so full
Of great and wild adventures
In the lovely brain
Of a little boy of five.

Mairead Tuohy Duffy (C) 2018