Torn page held tight in his dirty hand
The little boy runs, his eyes intent
Panting with eager delight in his plan.
Until at last, strength almost spent
He bounds happily up the toyshop stair.
A bell announces the entrance of the boy
Into paradise’s market! Finally there….
His breath steadies as he waits, alive with joy,
For his turn. He smooths the crinkled image
Out on the counter, scatters his piggy bank’s bliss
Across the glassy counter’s gleaming mirage.
At last he can ask “do you have this?”
At last the box is lifted from the cart
And he clutches it to his racing heart.
It struck me that many of the poems or texts written for poefusion’s latest friday five (little boy, torn page, market, dirt, cart) including the first one I wrote myself, were rather melancholy in tone. I wondered if this was simply because of what the words suggested, and decided to experiment with the idea of writing a happy poem based around these words. I rather liked the resulting sonnet!