The Kid Poem by Kieran Sam

Fever and fancy conjured
A child's image
Into my noon dream.
Lisping in words of the moon and stars,
He tugged at my sleeve
To walk a few yards onward.
He talked on in his naive ways
And his tale of a Moon-monster lurking above;
Not real for what lay in front,
But in his eyes, I saw many a light burnt..

I saw my kid days in the boy's face,
Misunderstood, yet naive and fanciful.
'My son, ' I hugged him up,
And to the distant call, I straight awoke:

'Like stars and moons above hang,
Every word of yours makes me a true song.'