Mark Poem by B. V. Dahlen

An impish grin
And grimy hands,
A chuckle rousing scamp,
A boy, all boy
To puddles drawn,
Who's shoes were always damp.

Uncombed, untamed, Undaunted,
He'd rise to every prank.
Then with a smile
That melted hearts
Evade the promised spank

Unfettered now
By prior bonds,
He runs and scampers free.
He has no fear
Of falling down,
'cause clouds can't scrape a knee.

The trees are tall
And climbable,
And toys are everywhere.
No dangling laces
Trip him now,
And angel's pants don't tear.

There are no calls
To dinner
In the middle of his play.
And never dreaded, bedtime.
For here it's always day.

And days are filled
With all the things
That boys so love to do
For God Himself
Was little once
And so, you see, He knew

That a little boy
With an impish grin
And Kool-aid lips stained red
Would rather have
A tree to climb,
Than a halo for his head.