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Also see Boy Page Ideas and other files in the Baby and Children sections.
Rugs and pillows
out of place,
Cars and tractors
here and there,
Blocks and boats
Gold and silver
have I none,
But worth a million
is my Son.
Little boys are treasures
Who are worth their weight in gold
And charm everyone around them
From the time they're hours old.
They're Mommy's little darling,
They're a special pal to Dad,
And they bring the very happiest days
A family's ever had!
My day-old son is plenty scrawny,
his mouth is wide with screams, or yawny;
His ears seem larger than he's needing,
His nose is flat, his chin's receding.
His skin is very, very red,
He has no hair upon his head,
and yet I'm proud as proud can be,
To hear you say he looks like me.
One small hand to hold in yours,
One small face to smile,
One wet kiss as he says "good-night"
One small child.
Catch the moment, put it in your heart
The years too soon will fly.
These are precious moments,
more than money can buy.
Two small arms to hold you tight,
Two small feet to run,
Two small eyes full of love for you,
One small son.
Catch the moment and put it in your heart
and never let it go.
Save it for the years to come,
when he, too will know.
One small hand to hold in his
One small face to smile.
One small kiss and she says "good-night"
One small child.
You got it from your father
You may lose the watch he gave you
It was fair the day you got it,
Through the years he proudly wore it,
Oh, there's much that he has given
You have lost the knife he gave you,
It is yours to wear forever,
And you'll smile as did your father--
(Roberta I. Teague)
I scrub the wall of fingerprints,
Pick up the mounds of clothes.
I sweep the dirt that shoes track in--
Wish I could use a hose!
Meals are served from dawn to dark,
Dirty dishes crowd the sink.
Just when they're washed and put away--
Everyone wants a drink!
The washer pulls the dirty grime
From pants worn thin and patched.
They look so very neat and clean--
Yuck, look what the pockets hatched!
Broken bones and bloody knees,
I should have been a nurse.
I take it all in shaky stride--
Just grateful it's not worse!
Screams and shouts and arguments
Test the keeping of my cool.
They left the neighbor's faucet on--
See their new front yard pool!
A soothing bath is ecstasy,
A reward at the end of my rope.
Raising boys isn't really bad--
But first I must wash the soap!
A rose can say I Love You,
Orchids can enthrall;
But a weed bouquet in a chubby fist,
Oh my, that says it all!
The world was made for little boys
With infinite wonders and myriad joys
As he explores the source of brooks
Or recorded lore in interesting books.
As he trails fierce bears imaginary
Or listens quietly for the wild canary,
There are trees to climb--birds to hear,
Animals to greet with love--not fear.
He tramps the woods, fields and streams
Dreaming those wondrous boyhood dreams,
Of conquering worlds--as yet unknown
In that far off day when he is grown,
To manhood stature with noble goal
Imbued with nature's gentle soul.
In the cool of evening or midday sun
Knowing that all of life is one--
Knowing with all its strife and noise
The world was made for little boys.
(Hugh M. Pierce)
I've a wonderful Boy, and I say to him, "Son,
Be fair and be square in the race you must run.
Be brave if you lose and be meek if you win.
Be better and nobler than I've ever been.
Be honest and noble in all that you do,
And honor the name I have given to you.
I have a boy and I want him to know
We reap in life just about as we sow,
And we get what we earn, be it little or great,
Regardless of luck and regardless of fate.
I will teach him and show him the best that I can,
That it pays to be honest and upright, a man.
I will make him a pal and a partner of mine,
And show him the things in this world that are fine.
I will show him the things that are wicked and bad,
For I figure this knowledge should come from his dad.
I will walk with him, talk with him, play with him, too;
And to all of my promises strive to be true.
We will grow up together, I'll too be a boy,
And share in his trouble and share in his joy.
We'll work out our plans when we both will be men.
And oh, what a wonderful joy this will be,
No pleasure in life could be greater to me.
My dishes went unwashed today,
I didn't make the bed,
I took his hand and followed
Where his eager footsteps led.
Oh yes, we went adventuring,
My little son and I,
Exploring all the great outdoors
Beneath the summer sky.
We waded in a crystal stream,
We wandered through a wood;
My kitchen wasn't swept today
But life was gay and good.
We found a cool, sun-dappled glade
And now my small son knows
How Mother Bunny hides her nest,
Where jack-in-the-pulpit grows.
We watched a robin feed her young,
We climbed a sunlit hill,
Saw cloud-sheep scamper through the sky,
We plucked a daffodil.
That my house was neglected,
That I didn't brush the stairs,
In twenty years, no one on earth
Will know, or even care.
But that I've helped my little boy
To noble manhood grow,
In twenty years, the whole wide world
May look and see and know.
If he can make you think that he's an angel
while doing things he's not supposed to do . . .
If he has lots of ways to try your patience
yet charms you with a hug that's just for you . . .
If he enjoys the roughest games and new adventures
but needs the same old kiss to "make it well" . . .
If he drags his feet whenever it's his bedtime
but runs to hear the story you will tell . . .
If he can fill your days with happiness and laughter
and always be a source of pride and joy,
Then he'll be all you lucky parents ever hoped for . . .
He'll be a really special little boy!
Oh, a lot of things get broken when you're rearing little boys,
There are broken doors and hinges, broken vases, broken toys.
There are many broken handles, broken dishes, broken knobs
And little troubles brew and break with little broken sobs.
There's many a broken buckle, and lots of broken stitches,
And on some very trying days, there may be broken switches.
The chocolate cake gets broken around its frosted edge
By a little Indian (mis) chief now hiding in the hedge.
And oft the quiet's shattered with a cowboy's scream and shout,
And oft times little faces are with measles broken out!
And little skins get broken, or else bumped 'till black and blue
But, thanks to Mom's caresses--little spirits never do.
Oh, many a nap is broken up with banging, din, and noise;
Yes, a lot of things get broken when you're rearing little boys!
But Silence, Gloom and Quiet, (When they grow up and depart)
Seem to settle all unbroken on your lonely, broken heart.
God made a world out of His dreams,
of magic mountains, oceans and streams,
Prairies and plains and wooded land.
Then paused and thought
I need someone to stand, on top of the mountains,
to conquer the seas, explore the plains
and climb the trees.
Someone to start out small and grow,
sturdy and strong like a tree and so
He created boys, full of spirit and fun
To explore and conquer, to romp and run
With dirty faces, and banged up chins
With courageous hearts and boyish grins.
And when He had completed the task He'd begun,
He surely said, "That's a job well done."
Miriam Sieber Lind
Praise to the High One for giving me joys
Peculiarly sweet, I'm the mother of boys!
Mud puddles, torn blue jeans, toads, whistles and worms.
The furred and feathered and whatever squirms.
Black knuckles, bats, arrows and thundering noise.
They're all in a day for the mothers of boys.
But, ah, 'tis a dear joy to turn the blue eyes
To the manifold wonder of earth, sea and skies.
And, ah, 'tis a dear joy to watch a small hand seize
The hand of God in the knowledge of these.
Spare me, oh High One, to praise Thee more when
This mother of boys is the mother of men.
(See Boy Page Ideas for an album based on this poem.)
(Gwen Belson Taylor, from A 5th Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul © 1998)
Blessed are the pure in heart.
So often we are told
Of saints whose names and daily deeds
Inscribed in books of gold
Are certain to be seeing God
In well-rewarding joy--
But when I see the pure in heart
I see a little boy.
He shins up trees and barks his knees,
Has lizards in a box;
He loves to read of dinosaurs,
Collects bright-colored rocks.
His grubby hands are gentle
On the coats of dogs and birds,
And he has a quiet wisdom in naivety of words.
I listen to his little prayers
At night with quiet joy--
And when I hear the pure in heart
I hear a little boy.
He hasn't reached the age as yet
To question and to doubt;
He gravely takes his mother's words,
And that's what life's about.
Each day is gold, a shining thing
Without a wrong alloy--
And when I hold the pure in heart
I hold a little boy.
(Nikki Blair )
Someone once called you
Snips, Snails, Puppy-Dog Tails--
but I know you
and you are
sometimes even sweet-sibling-hugging
coated with the dust and dirt of
high-top tennis shoes and falling-down socks
blistered palms from too much free-throw practice
chlorine-damp hair from a splashy cannonball dive into the pool
eating your veggies
only with the promise that they'll make you big and strong
giggling in your pj's at Saturday morning cartoons
letting the dog lick your face and
scrubbed and tubbed
hair combed (until
it rumples on your pillow
when you settle in to sleep)
and there in your dreams
a cowboy, a fireman,
a dump-truck driver,
but in my dreams
(my daydreams and my night dreams)
a grown, gentle man with
a lighted smile, shining eyes--
kissing your beautiful new bride--
singing soft lullabies to your babies in their beds,
and smoothing their bath-damp hair
for I know you and
that's what my little boy is made of.
When you were born the stars shone bright,
A tiny perfect, wondrous sight.
The babe became a growing boy,
Meeting life with cries of joy,
from awkward steps to reading books,
Games with balls and baiting hooks.
As years went by, a man appeared,
Loved and nurtured through the years.
With honest eyes he views the day,
A caring heart is there to stay.
A silent strength, an active mind,
A better man is hard to find.
I view him with both love and pride,
for you, my son, in him reside.
A Boy is...
Trust with dirt on its face,
A Little Boy
If you have a little boy
God loves little boys and all that they do
Exploring and laughing and roughhousing, too.
God loves their energy, eagerness and wit.
He loves their serious side and their fanciful spirit.
He guides them and tends them while they grow,
Giving them all of the grace he can bestow.
God's plan for his boys is wondrous as well,
Because soon in their place little men will dwell.
I remember when you were my little boy,
An extension of my very being.
My every waking moment belonged to you.
One evening when I called you to supper,
You came to the table all grown up.
Where did all the in between go?
Too soon I was to let you go.
Now, I shall always call you "my son"
But in my heart . . .
you'll always be my little boy.
Little boys come in all shapes and sizes,
Shy and adventurous, full of surprises,
With misshapen halos and mischievous grins,
Small dirty faces, and sweet, sticky chins.
They'll keep you so busy, and yet all the while
Nothing can brighten the world like their smile.
And no greater treasure has brought homes more joy
Than a curious, active, and lovable boy!
(Bruce B. Wilmer)
I look to you with hope and pride;
I see your future brightly.
Your deep concerns and aspirations
I will not take lightly.
The future is a mystery
That everyone explores.
I'll share your possibilities,
Embrace your distant shores.
I'll answer you when questions stir,
Encourage you, implore you.
But life's a challenge shaped by dreams,
A gift I can't live for you.
So live it well; respect it fully;
Play your spirit out.
Seek and then discover
All the best that life's about.
Remember that you're not alone--
My love is always there.
The challenge that defines your life
My heart will gladly share.
You're on a voyage into time,
A trip to somewhere new.
You may not always see me there,
But I'll be there with you
A boy is a person who is going to carry on what you have started.
His is to sit right where you are sitting and attend when you are gone to those things you think are so important.
You may adopt all the policies you please, but how they will be carried out depends on him.
Even if you make leagues and treaties, he will have to manage them.
He is going to sit at your desk in the Senate, and occupy your place on the Supreme Bench.
He will assume control of your cities, states and nations.
He is going to move in and take over your prisons, churches, schools, universities and corporations.
All your work is going to be judged and praised or condemned by him.
Your reputation and your future are in his hands.
All you work is for him, and the fate of the nations and of humanity is in his hands.
So it might be well to pay him some attention.
(probably written by Alan Beck and published in Reader's Digest in 1954)
Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood,
we find a delightful creature of a boy.
Boys come in assorted sizes, weights and colors.
But all boys have the same creed: to enjoy every second of
every minute of every day and to protest with noise
(their only weapon) when their last minute is finished and
the adult males pack them off to bed at night!
Boys are found everywhere: on top of, underneath, inside of,
climbing on, swinging from, running around, or jumping to.
Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters
and brothers tolerate them and adults ignore them. A boy is
truth with dirt on its face, beauty with a cut on its finger,
wisdom with bubble gum in its hair, and the hope of the
future with a frog in its pocket. When you are busy, a boy
is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jungle of noise.
When you want him to make an impression, his brain turns
into jelly or else he becomes a jungle creature, bound on
destroying the world, and himself with it. A boy is a
composite. He has the appetite of a horse, the digestion
of a sword-swallower, the imagination of Paul Bunyan, the
energy of a pocket-size atomic bomb, the curiosity of a
cat, the shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel trap,
the enthusiasm of a fire cracker, and when he make something,
he has five thumbs on each hand. He likes ice cream,
movies, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street,
woods, water in its natural habitat, large animals, trains,
Saturday mornings, and fire engines. He is not much for
Sunday school, composing, music lessons, neckties, barbers,
girls, overcoats, adults or bedtime.
Nobody else is so early to rise or so late to supper.
Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs, and
breezes. Nobody else can cram into one pocket a rusty
knife, a half-eaten apple, three feet of string, two gumdrops, a
five-cent slingshot, a chunk of unknown substance, and one
supersonic code ring with a secret compartment. A boy is
a magical creature--you can lock him out of your workshop,
but you can't lock him out of your heart! You can get him
out of your study, but you can't lock him out of your mind!
Might as well give up! He is your captor, your jailer,
your boss, and your master. But when your dreams tumble
down and the world is a mess, he can put together the broken
pieces in just a twinkle with a few magic words . . . I LOVE YOU!