Children at Play - Children are so inspiring. The following collection was written while watching my children at play. . . a magical time that transforms both children and their onlookers. - Personal - http://maxpages.com/prufrockcafe/Poems_about

	Children at Play
Children are so inspiring. The following collection was written while watching my children at play. . . a magical time that transforms both children and their onlookers.

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The Girl in the Frilly Red Skirt

Grandfather to Grandson

Three little boys set out one day,
for the great outdoors in the yard to play,
But a little girl with bows in her hair,
sat down on the grass and began to stare.

The little boys played with rocks and sticks,
they built a little house with bricks,
They laughed and giggled that sunny day,
but all she did was watch them play.

And when their fun in the dirt was through,
they ran off laughing as little boys do.
But the little girl smiled and moved to their toys,
She knew she could play just like the boys.

She washed their little trucks and all,
and parked them neatly by the wall,
She planted flowers, used moss for grass,
and gave the place a touch of class.

She put little bows on their soldier men,
and put them where they should have been;
working the garden like good soldiers do,
so she bit off their guns and burried them too!

Then she looked at the road the boys had made,
that had pot holes and mud traps and a rock baracade,
And she smoothed it all out then admired what she'd done,
thinking "Girls can play too and have just as much fun!"

But the three little boys came back to see,
and they howled with laughter at what she,
had done to the place they had built in the dirt,
and she went off slowly, sad and hurt.

The little boys watched as she walked away,
and went in the house that sunny day,
And they wished they hadn't laughed so hard,
at the way that she'd fixed up their yard.

"It isn't so bad," the little one said,
as he smiled at the garden and flower bed,
that the little girl planted on the battle ground,
with leaves and flowers that she had found.

So they all went in to see the girl,
with bows in her hair and a little curl,
that when she walked bounced up and down,
in her baby hair all soft and brown.

They found her in her room at three,
with her dollys and teddys having afternoon tea,
And the little boys stood and watched her play,
Unfluffed by the way the boys acted that day.

"Would you care for some tea with Maranda and I?
We have crumpets and cakes and fresh apple pie.
We'd be pleased if you joined us," she said with a grin,
as she moved her dolls over so the boys could squeeze in.

So they sat at the table pretending to eat,
as she put hats on their heads and high heels on their feet,
She gave them all purses and long feather wraps,
and each had a dolly to put down for a nap.

And the little girl smiled as she so proudly sat,
watching three little boys play a girl game like that.
But a shootout erupted in the little girls room,
and the boys became cowboys in a western saloon.

She dove for the safety neath her soft downy bed,
as the boys made a tent from her fluffy pink spread,
They pretended her dolls were the indians that day,
and she laughed at the boys and the way that they play.

Later on they all left and went back to the dirt,
where they played with the girl in the frilly red skirt.
All together they sat on the ground that nice day,
and they learned that together is okay to play.

She didn't mind she was dirty as she played on the ground,
and they ignored their big hats with the frills hanging down,
And they laughed as they played in the dirt with their toys,
that curly haired girl and those three little boys.

"It is good to grow", the wise man said,
to his grandson at his knee.
"We all must grow even trees and plants,
each living thing you see!

The hollyhocks, the thistle bush,
the thorns upon the rose,
The apple tree, the mistletoe,
the grass beneath your toes.

A rushing brook grows larger still,
as it's water races by,
And clouds grow larger as the sun,
brings moisture to the sky.

How sad it'd be if the sky had walls,
or the brook should loose its flow,
or the apple loose it's ruby coat,
and the rose no place to grow.

For every thing that comes from God,
is blessed with the will to thrive,
It's a living sign to all the world,
that He is quite alive."

Cowboy/Annie

"People Exercise an unconscious selection in being influenced." T.S. Eliot

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Page Updated Sun Apr 2, 2000 10:58am EDT