George

There once was a boy,

so pale, so white, so snow.

He truly felt like a wooden toy,

A child's play, years to go.

Yet he was a human, like the son of Truman,

his best friend, his name was Ullman.

Ullman was also pale,

in a much larger scale,

so white, so dead,

like the son of Fred.

But Fred had no such fault 

that his son, Golias, wasn't perfect by default.

George, Ullman and Golias used to play together,

all happy, and childish, forever and ever.

And never did they feel like a child's toy,

they felt like little white children,

purely filled with joy.

Frank Waffle

Author's Note

Frank Waffle, dear friend.

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

I read your darkly playful thoughts several times through, meandering with them across space, feeling myself lost there among their joyful moments, childish moments where only joy exists, even in shadows. You create a world for them to dance in, and I hope they always do, dear poet.