Occupied mostly with mundane chores,
Missed the call of my son at the door,
Running here and there in the peak morn,
Brushed aside the cry of the little don,
Preparing hectic for the day’s ordeal,
Forgot the little one’s important deal.
He demanded a paper to scribble,
I gathered myself into a crucible,
Relaxing in the couch with closed eyes,
Getting restless he cast the dice,
Took dozen crayons to the beautiful wall,
Unaware of his attempt I cuddled like a deflated ball.
He drew images large and small,
Making his father look tall,
Figuring me as a petite dame,
Himself as a bright boy to name,
The colours red , black and blue.
Made the wall resemble a gaudy true.
The white wall became a canvas pretty
To the little one’s imagination dainty,
His world consisted of three,
Father, mother ,himself in a spree,
Stealthily he walks across to me,
Reclines in my lap like a gentle be.