A boy of three just standing there
He’s motionless beyond compare
White frilly shirt and dungarees
With golden hair down to his knees
He looks at me, a righteous stare
Angelic with an impish glare
He looks so cute with chubby face
A look that keeps me in my place
He seems to reach into my mind
I wonder what he thinks he’ll find?
Was I the same when I was three
A cheeky face that’s so carefree
No frilly hat or sword and scabbard
He doesn’t even wear a tabard
What kind of cavalier is he
But then I see he’s only three
Four spars of wood keep in the glass
And the boy still stands so motionless
I fondly say goodnight my lad
To the photograph that is my dad
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem