A little boy while at play,
Counted on a high stairway.
Now so sleepy he did sway,
At the closing of the day.
His loving mother rests in heaven,
As he climbed to number seven.
Then he slowly raised his head,
The following words he gently said...
I'm climbing up the golden stair,
Climbing, climbing in the air.
Because my mother's waiting there,
In her little rocking chair.
She will play and she will sing,
And her love to me she'll bring.
I will hug her way up there,
Climbing up the golden stair.
Copyright Shaun Cronick.2020. All Rights reserved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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