It's almost time for you to walk.
One day soon, with a piece of chalk,
you'll talk your little self into two feet,
into a walk. Your walks will run on
like a long sentence. And one day you
will know what that means.
It's just about time for a stroll,
this amble that bucks like a troll.
When other children walk, you roll.
One day, when you have places to be,
you will see what Dr. Seuss meant:
three sneetches in breeches and stars.
One day you will count. You count
today. And you are a fount of a mountain
of potential, in the same way,
as we discussed, the acorn in the park
that you tried to eat, could be an ark
on which leaves and life may loom.
You are like an acorn. And one day you
will understand similes and the way that
you were torn from non-being to be.
I hope Hamlet stays out of your dreams,
entering your mind gently, without the
loss of your secure sense of fateless destiny.
You may one day know what I mean.
I may know one day what I mean.
And in order for all to be in order,
there need be no orders issued,
no tissues torn, no thorns worn,
no negations or deviations necessitated.
All remains in order,
as you crawl, or perhaps,
one day walk.
Roman Ryan 