Boys are so different from girls. Their busy nature can overwhelm any day of the week. They build things, play with trucks, roar like dinosaurs, and hardly ever sit still. They discover and learn in different amazing ways. Any mom of boys and girls will tell you that it is like night and day. I am often reminded of the saying: Little girls are made of sugar and spice.............Little boys are made of snakes and snails and puppy dog tails.
What those poems don't tell you is that little boys are sensitive, cuddly and kind. Little boys will stand up for their siblings. They are willing to fight battles they can't win. They will look danger in the eye and dare it to get them. Little boys are fearless and full of fears. They need their mommies, their night lights, and their blankies. Even if those poems captured this they couldn't tell you that little boys will steal your heart as they grow. They will change your life, and as fast as you can blink they will grow up before your eyes.
What the poems don't tell you is that little boys are meant to grow into strong men. They don't tell you how fleeting it all is. That before you wipe the last tear they have transformed, and in an instant they will be too big for blankies, and cuddles. Too cool for hugs and mommies. Too soon little boys grow up.
I still remember the day he was born, and the moment they laid him in my arms. I remember bringing him home. Each memory big and little making up 3 years of him. He's grown so fast, and stole my heart my little boy. In three short years he's changed the world of my heart. I can't imagine life without him, days without his smiling face. He is my pride and joy, my baby boy all grown up. So here's a better poem. To describe a little boy. Its not as short, but twice as sweet.
Blessed are the pure in heart.
So often we are told
Of saints whose names and daily deeds
Inscribed in books of gold
Are certain to be seeing God
In well-rewarding joy -
But when I see the pure in heart
I see a little boy.
He shins up trees and barks his knees,
Has lizards in a box;
He loves to read of dinosaurs,
Collects bright-colored rocks.
His grubby hands are gentle
On the coats of dogs and birds,
And he has a quiet wisdom in naivety of words.
I listen to his little prayers
At night with quiet joy -
And when I hear the pure in heart
I hear a little boy.
He hasn't reached the age as yet
To question and to doubt;
He gravely takes his mother's words,
And that's what life's about.
Each day is gold, a shining thing
Without a wrong alloy -
And when I hold the pure in heart
I hold a little boy.
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