JOEY

I have a treasure that's bound up in curls

That loves to hug cats and that hates all the girls

That cries in an instant and laughs in a crack

And has rips in his jeans from the front to the back.

I have a treasure that loves to read books

That loves all the Muppets; pretends that he cooks

That pulls the dogs fur and drags the cat by the tail

Then gives big doe-like eyes to turn your heart frail.

I have a son who does bring me good cheer

Whose whispered "I love you's" I hold very dear

Whose tears I have wiped away many a time

With stories I've told him and poems that rhyme.

He loves to draw pictures and write ABC's

And Band-Aids he wants on his bruised or cut knees

Or else he needs cuddles or snuggles at night

Or some tender comfort when he's had a fright.

There'll soon come a day when I will be old

And with withered hands, my son's children I'll hold

I will patiently tell them the stories of "Dad"

And all of the mem'ries of him that I had.

And, oh, they will laugh at their father with curls

Who loved to hug cats and who hated the girls

Who cried in an instant and laughed with great joy

For they'll know the man and I'll treasure the boy.

Learn more about this author, Ruth Cheeseman.
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