Child

For Dylan Thomas

He passes through different rooms

Each with its own quality of light

He burns small sticks.  

He waddles through glorious muck

His big black boots

turning sideways as they will.

He thinks he has killed time.

On the edge of paradise he throws stones at tins.

And pushes his tongue through a broken smile.

Reviews

[Valentine]

Big black boots...perhaps his fathers boots. Playing outside..I remember those days. Valentine

[paul sal.....]

Fatherhood can be a hard job, when it is nothing more than our own youth we witness,deja vu ing

[Samuel Jack]

It does feel like you've captured someones childhood in 3 stanzas, beutiful imagery, as always Herr philibert.

[Ken Simm.]

I feel that all I can say constructively about this is exactly.

[Circe]

while I'm ignorant of dylan thomas biography.. can't help loving this, every line bleeds of conviction... these words are to be savoured, read passionately.. no one does imagery like this.

[WhiteWillow]

A great piece, stirs many mental pictures and emotions. Well done.

[N.A.Truman]

To children, perhaps, time cannot exist until fear does.

Enjoyable read.

[Irfan Bashir Shah]

Your writing is potent.

[paradise]

Nice style very different had nice flowi liked it :)