The Child Poem by Sabareesh.P.A Raja

A little naughty child,
Whose face was mild.
Stood behind the window,
Watching trees with long shadow.

A bright little black eye,
Peeping out like a spy.
His fine fingers held a toy,
Which he never knew why.

The wet lips passed out a rhyme,
Which went on and on after each time.
His fore finger counted the rose,
All that the garden had to pose.

The shadow of the trees grew longer,
As the sun sat across the border.
Far away came marching his father,
With a opened box underneath the shoulder.

The child climbed up the frame,
Like the lion keeper failing to tame.
The child's eyebrows took a deep stretch,
To find what it was inside the trench.

Rose a white kitten with a red neck bell,
It was looking too young to even spell.
With his father's ability to make him indulge,
The child's rose cheeks took a deep bulge.