Number 66, Go on my son!

Go on my son!

Ever since the age of one,
Active would describe my son.
By the time he got to two,
Dangerous things he liked to do.
By three he thought it fun to see,
Heavy things fall down on me…
His favourite trick when he was four,
Was pails of water on the door!
Then one day when he was five,
At the pool he learned to dive;
This he did till he was six,
Then chose karate-chopping bricks.
Remarkably at age of seven,
He bowled the village first eleven.
And once he had arrived at eight,
He pole-vaulted the garden gate...
He’s hardly home since he’s been nine,
Though we ask him time on time,
To telephone us now and then,

And not forget us now he’s ten.

Next up, his teens, no doubt he will,
Spend in search of some new thrill.
I’m rather hoping that by twenty,
This will have taught him more than plenty.
There's one thing that is for sure
I pray that he remains secure,
And calculates his risks each day.
Safe and sound in every way.

I can hardly tell him no,

If he asks me can he go,

Round the world by motorbike,

Since he and I are quite alike.

Years before the lad was born,

I sailed a boat around Cape Horn,

And I simply had to fly,

Anything up in the sky.

First I learned to fly a plane,

Then I had to learn again,

This time a hot air balloon,

And then a rocket to the moon.

Astronaut I might have been,

If somebody hadn’t seen,

Me smiling at her from afar,

As she passed me in her car.

Married later in the year,

I had to give in to the fear,

That her female brain computes;

No more dangerous pursuits!

But now we have a big brave son,

Running rings round everyone;

Skiing, mountaineering, hell..

He does everything so well.

So head in study or hands dirty,
Working hard at age of thirty?
I don’t really mind or care,
As long as he is happy there!

© Stephen Saunders