Bath Time Poem by Theresa Ann Moore

Before changing your clothes, a bath is a must instead.
You have poured sticky soda pop on your curly head.
The idea makes you think of getting out fun bath toys.
There is a rustle stirring with an eager squealing noise.

The tub is filled with tepid water and topped with bubbles.
A doubled bath towel is put along side to absorb puddles.
You have selected a school of orange plastic floating fish.
A small fishing pole will help the fisherman to accomplish.

A super bath aid is an array of surface friendly crayons.
Water-soluble doodles soon disappear; they don’t stay on.
A perfect combination to make bath time more enjoyable.
Playtime bathing has become entertainingly knowledgeable.

After an hour of on going splashing and skill improvement.
Fingers and toes are prune like; it is time to end amusement.
My supposition is met with strenuous and innate opposition.
No, no, no… is grandson’s reply to the unwelcome transition.

Opening the drain to let water out, little hands thump it shut.
There seems to be hostility brewing in the kettle… Now what?
Holding back outstretched arms, the beloved ebb flowed out.
'You are mean, ' is hurled with a wet wash cloth and a shout.

Large stubborn tears began to appear and a lower lip quivered.
Refusing to get dried, he shook his head and defiantly shivered.
With a towel surrounding, he realized that he felt much better.
Knowing warm and dry was an improvement over cold and wetter.

As his new clean attire slipped over his fresh smelling damp skin.
He mellowed and no longer had the desire to kick me in the shin.
Instantly he revitalized, running and asking for a pudding treat.
Evidently his anger could be easily soothed with something sweet.